The King's Last Song

by Geoff Ryman

  "Cambodian girls are too ugly. No one wants them.” She said it sweetly enough not to be shot.

  Finally, Map intervened. “Hey Veasna, hey friend, let's go have some fun. I don't like talking to these guys and anyway, these girls....they're too expensive for us.” Map turned to the girl and bowed slightly. She had been clever; she had got her client away.

  "Go on,” whispered Map to the girls. Then explained, “My friend lost all his family."

  Which wasn't true.

  The yuon intervened. “I am very sorry for your tragedy,” he said. The other girl looked calm and smiling but she was pulling on his arm, very hard.

  Veasna allowed himself to be led away.

  Later he said, “You get the two of us mixed around, friend.” He patted Map's neck. “It's okay, we're buddies. But you do keep getting us reversed."

  Map had replied, “Nothing is true anymore."

  They kept looking for Mliss. They asked in bus stations. They went to the old post office, which had once been red, black, and gold like a temple, but was now a bare and splotchy brown, with the employees sleeping on sacks. Had a girl called Tan Mliss or Koy Mliss come for post?

  The employees laughed. What post? There is no post!

  People lived in the ruins of what had been the National Bank, washing their crockery in big plastic tubs. A lost girl? Oh, there are so many of those. What does she look like?

  Map realized that he had no idea.

  The old train station was lined with people sleeping at night. Map and Veasna walked up and down the rows, whispering his sister's name. “Mliss? Tan Mliss?"

  Other people were tilling the rows of people in the train station. They peered over the faces, bending as if over rice fields. They too apologized and then asked after other names, names that meant Golden or Lucky or Happy.

  New Year came. This was only the second year that celebrations of Col Ch'nam T'Mei were authorized. Hand-painted posters promised races: boat races, horse races, and oxcart races. At Boeung Kek Park next to the old French embassy, families sat on the grass. Beautiful girls with long black hair piled high on top of their heads wore new pink sampots and strolled out over the lake on the rickety zigzag walkways.

  Veasna and Map went to the Tuol Sleng exhibition. They didn't go for fun, but to look for Mliss. There were rows of photographs of people who had been taken there as prisoners, mostly Khmers Rouges cadres themselves. Many people visited Tuol Sleng, steeling themselves to find the name or photograph of a relative who had disappeared. If they could write, they signed the guestbook, in case relatives came looking for them.

  At Tuol Sleng there was a map of Cambodia made out of human skulls, held in place by thighbones. Only the Great Lake and the Rivers were free from bones, painted blue.

  The Peoples Republic wanted Cambodians to hate the Khmers Rouges, but they did not have to tell lies to persuade them. Fishermen still tripped up on bones in the mud, or pulled them up in their nets. Children on riverbanks found human skulls used as nests. Farmers ploughing fields found bones, matted cloth, or old rubber sandals.

  Map talked and talked all the time they were in Tuol Sleng. He couldn't stop talking. He wanted to drive out the faces. “She was an excellent student, very interested in history. She wanted to be a nurse,” said Map. He was making up stories. Everybody's brother or sister was an excellent student, especially if they had disappeared.

  They lined up to look at the guest book. It took a long time because most people read the whole book looking for names. It was hot and Veasna was hungover. He did not look big and handsome. He smelled sour, and his unshaven chin did not make him look in the least like Che Guevara. He looked like somebody who was getting too old for shades and slicked-back hair. “Awh kumlang, I'm tired,” he kept grumbling.

  Map tried to make a joke of the hangover. Devil-may-care-lad pays in the morning for the pleasures of the night before. The teasing didn't work. Veasna was troubled and hot and thirsty. Maybe he was getting tired of looking.

  Next trip, maybe I'll come on my own, Map thought.

  They finally got to the guest book. They signed, and then they scanned the signatures. Family names and nicknames and full formal names and the provinces they had come from and the provinces they had marched to. Some even listed the camps in Thailand where relatives were thought to be.

  Down, down, down, past all the names, the names that meant January or Jewel, or Sweet.

  Map's body knew before his brain did. His breath caught, his heart thumped still. Then he saw the name in tiny neat handwriting—Tan Mliss—and an address.

  * * * *

  It was back up Monivong towards the train station, near where you would turn right for the Samarki Hotel.

  There was a square portal through a building into a narrow alleyway. Families lived along it, crouching under makeshift awnings, cooking in tiny pans. Smoke had stained the walls black; rain had streaked them. Overhead torn plastic sheeting hung, providing some protection against the rain. Girls lounged in front of staircases.

  Map stopped in front of a staircase with a tiled number from the old days. “If she is a prostitute, please still respect her. And please, please don't sleep with her."

  Veasna slapped his chest. “Why do you say that to me? I would not do those things. You should trust me by now."

  "I don't trust anyone,” said Map. “At least not around women."

  And for some reason, Veasna took hold of the back of his neck and held it firmly. “Come on, Chubby, let's see what we find."

  The light fittings had been torn out all the way up the staircase. Children and grandmothers sat in silence on the steps. They knocked on a doorway and a madeup Vietnamese girl said brightly, “You looking for me?"

  Map explained he was looking Tan Mliss. The girl said, “Ah, yes, this way.” She trotted up the steps, showing off her legs. “This door here,” she said.

  They stood and waited for a moment, and then Map knocked.

  The door opened only a sliver. A huge brown eye stared out at them and a breathless voice said, “I do not work here, you have made a mistake, try the other doors."

  "Mliss? Is your name Tan Mliss?"

  Silence. The door hesitated in mid-flight.

  "Mliss, this Map, Tan Map. I am your brother. I saw your name in the Tuol Sleng book."

  "What was our brother's name?"

  "Tan Heng. Mliss, it is me."

  The door was opened by the most beautiful girl Map had ever seen.

  Map's father had been beefy, bullish with a heavy nose, heavy chin, and thrusting teeth. Their mother had been delicate, shaken inside, with huge staring eyes and fragile cheekbones.

  Somehow in his sister, the two had cancelled out.

  Mliss was taller than he was, slithery and thin as a reed. A folded headscarf held her hair in place, and she wore a housecoat and earrings. She saw Veasna and skittered backwards, hauling in a breath and saying in a voice that was almost a cry, “Who is that?"

  They were frightening her. They were soldiers with guns.

  Map quickly pushed his hair in place and under his hat. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Veasna had stood respectfully back.

  "Younger Sister, this is my best friend, samlaing. He has been with me in all our efforts to find you. This is Comrade Nim Veasna."

  Mliss sompiahed and her hand strayed up to her own hair. She invited them in and her eyes avoided theirs. Only once did Map catch her glancing up at his face.

  Mliss was a good Khmer girl. She was not like the hearty girls riding mashed together in the back of pickup trucks. Nor did she look like a farm girl nipping about her kitchen. She did not slip-slop cheerfully across the floor in sandals. Even in her own house she walked as if the floor could break, as if any sudden movement would awaken her from a dream.

  "I'm sorry,” she said. “There is nothing to eat. Would you like some tea?"

  Veasna was somehow more at home than Map. “Oh, tea would be perfect. We've just had lunch, so please, Mi
ss Tan Mliss, don't worry about food."

  "Tea is no trouble.” Her teeth were white and perfect. As slowly as drifting clouds, she turned and put some paper onto the fire ring on her table. She stirred the embers and blew. On the floor next to the table were a bowl, some spoons, and two tin pots.

  The room looked like it had once been the service area of a bigger apartment. The walls and floor were covered with rosebud tiles and there was a drain in the middle of the floor. Along the top of the wall some bricks had been left out to make a kind of air vent. There was no other light. Buckets of water were lined up along one of the walls.

  A folded hammock hung in one corner. Three pairs of shoes were stowed under it and some plastic bags next to them contained neatly folded clothes. No sign of a boyfriend; no pictures from newspapers on the wall. There was no radio, no flowers, and no cushions. One clean mat lay squarely on the floor.

  Veasna tried to kick-start the conversation. “We serve with the regiment in Siem Reap."

  "Oh. I don't know about the war.” All her movements were elegant. She seemed confident and smiling, but she kept pulling her hair out of her eyes unnecessarily. “I work in a school. It is a charity run by some East Germans. The big round building near the Samarki? I am very lucky to get a job there; it is the only orphanage in the city. It is not much money, but it is safe and they pay me regularly."

  Map turned to Veasna and smiled with relief. “That sounds like a very good job. I am very happy to hear you have such a good job."

  Mliss came with the tea and knelt down, laying out the pot and two plastic cups that were printed with flowers to look like china.

  "I taught myself some German.” She passed a cup and gave Map a wide but somehow blank smile. “My husband paid them a bribe of forty dollars to take me. They keep apologizing."

  "You are married?” said Map and could not keep the surprise out of his voice. So where is he? Map thought. Why does she live like this? “I am anxious to meet him."

  "I would like to see him too,” she said, very calmly. “He paid the bribe and then left."

  This was a shameful thing, but her gaze seemed to be steady, even though her smile was a bit glazed. “I think it was his way of making sure I would be all right. We had no children, so perhaps not too many people were hurt."

  Veasna was direct. “He must have been a foolish man to leave a beautiful wife like you."

  Mliss turned to him, still smiling. “Was he? If you knew me, Comrade, perhaps you would not say that."

  "Look,” said Veasna sitting forward. “It is New Year. We have all lost so many people. Perhaps we could all go out and walk along the riverfront?"

  She dipped her head, slowly, gracefully. It was like watching a movie star. Map involuntarily shook himself. It was not possible such a beautiful creature was his sister. “I do not go out,” she replied. “Except for my work."

  "This would not be going out. We could just turn at the next street and walk to the river.” Veasna hesitated and glanced at Map. “Maybe you would just like to go to see the Central Market? It would be a family occasion at New Year.” Veasna was trying to be cheery and punctiliously correct at the same time.

  Mliss said, “I don't go out because as you can see, my hair is falling out."

  Map paused. He looked. She chuckled. “You cannot see it because I take great care to hide it."

  Her hair was pulled back so all her forehead could be seen, and it was not thin. Perhaps it was falling out at the back.

  "Also, people throw water at New Year, and that scares me."

  "It is supposed to bring luck,” said Veasna, gently.

  "Not if you are in the back of a pickup going fast. Then it hurts, or it causes an accident."

  Map suddenly understood that she was afraid. “Believe me, Mliss. You are beautiful. No one can see your hair, as you say."

  Veasna smiled and tried to look lively. “If anyone throws bags of water at me and Map, we will lob them out of the way. Splat!"

  "Nevertheless. I do not like going out."

  Both of them looked about the empty room. No radio, no newspapers, no games. What on earth did she find to do?

  Veasna was still trying to look perky. “Then let your brother and me go out and come back with a meal. A feast, yes no? You don't know how long Map has been trying to find you. He asks everyone, do you know a Tan Mliss?"

  "My friend Veasna looked for you as well."

  "Map helped me find my mother. So this is a real celebration for both of us. Please. It won't take long. We will come back with the meal, and we can all celebrate New Year together."

  Mliss smiled, and the smile could only be described as gracious. It was like talking to a princess. She held up a delicate hand. “Oh! What can I say? Thank you. That would be so kind.” She glanced at Map and then fixed on Veasna.

  Oh well, thought Map, if I had a choice of looking at Veasna or me, I'd look at Veasna too.

  At the door Map stopped, overcome. “It is good to find you, Younger Sister. It is so good to find you.” His voice started to shake.

  Mliss remained placid, the smile like a distant lighthouse. “Thank you, Older Brother.” She dipped in a kind of acknowledgment.

  Then she remembered something. “Oh. Please. No snake, no frog, no cricket. I cannot eat those things. And no beer for me. I don't like beer."

  "We will get no beer, only soda."

  She nodded, and stroked hair back from her face, though it was perfectly in place.

  They went to the state canteen in the nearby Central Market. The government had boasted that ninety-two million riels worth of consumer goods had crowded into Phnom Penh as part of the celebrations. The huge old dome of the weird French building rang with voices like the inside of a bell. Veasna gaped and started to laugh at the abundance. There were bicycles, cameras, electric fans, even, on one stall, video recorders. The stalls were piled high with vegetables and meat and drink. One stall had tidy temples of wines and cognac and Thai Coca-Cola.

  "I know what your sister needs,” said Veasna and impulsively bought a tiny transistor radio with batteries.

  The state canteen was offering everyone a five percent discount. Map and Veasna bought hot steaming bags full of rice and pork and fish and vegetables with soup. They would not have bought beer in any case—a bottle of Singha cost four hundred riels.

  As they walked back through the market, Veasna said, “Don't worry about your sister. It takes people in different ways. You expect to be overjoyed, and for everybody to be overjoyed. It doesn't always happen as you expect."

  "No."

  "She's scared,” said Veasna. “She's beautiful and scared. Maybe she's scared because she is beautiful. Being beautiful can be scary."

  "Veasna, what are you saying?"

  "Beauty can make you scared to lose it,” said Veasna, holding out his arms, shrugging his eyebrows. Maybe he meant himself.

  Map went back to joking. “I don't think she can be my sister. How can someone who looks like that be my sister?"

  "Oh, you are handsome fellow."

  "I look like a monkey,” said Map. “I know that. I don't care."

  "And that's what makes you so brave,” said Veasna, and for a joke pushed the tip of Map's nose. From anyone else—what an insult!

  They bought tinsel. They bought a large plastic star and a candle for New Year.

  Veasna insisted on going to the toilets to wash from a cistern of water. He took off his shirt and shaved.

  "Ah, you fancy my sister already."

  "No, but I do not like looking like a slob with a girl like that. Ah? And Map? Shave, my friend.” Veasna held out his razor. “Really. We look like ruffians.” He said it with sadness.

  In the alleyway, the neighbours’ children played a screaming game of angkunh, throwing nuts at each other. Inside, Mliss sat cross-legged on the floor as if it were scattered with cushions. With perfect little cries of surprise, she laid out the New Year feast on plates and bowls she had borrowed from her n
eighbours.

  "I told the Vietnamese girls that my long-lost brother had come, and so they loaned me all these plates. They were so happy for me. They know I take care of children, and they say that maybe I will have to take care of theirs. They all think they will die.” She shrugged. Then she murmured, “I really only like children."

  Veasna asked gently, “Why is that?"

  "They see everything fresh. They have no bad past. You make them laugh and everything seems fine."

  Mliss ate nearly nothing. There was soup, but she simply sipped some from her brother's spoon. The rice on her plate was pressed once between her fingers. Of the beautiful crisp fish, she took only a sliver.

  "Oh, it is so delicious,” she said.

  "Have some more,” Map urged, already worried about her.

  She gave her head a little shake. “Eating makes me sick."

  "Oh, Younger Sister! This is not good. You should eat."

  "Oh, Older Brother. Don't worry. I have survived on my own."

  Veasna was inspired. “She eats air and mist. She goes down to the river in the early morning when no one can see her, and she breakfasts on the dew. Sometimes she goes and feeds on the scents of flowers, or the buzzing of honeybees."

  Almost imperceptibly, Mliss clapped her hands. “The children would like you,” she said.

  "Not as much as I do,” said Veasna. He meant as much as he liked her.

  But Mliss replied, “Oh, I can imagine that you like yourself very much."

  Veasna closed his eyes. “That's not what I meant."

  He remembered the radio. Map was sure he'd bought it to hear about the races. The broadcast came from a new stadium in a new suburb called Phnom Penh Tmei. In the first horse race, most of the horses took off in the wrong direction and one of them charged the officials. Veasna roared with laughter and said, “That is a Cambodian race, all right!"

  The race was won by the only horse to complete the course in the right direction, a mare called Srey Sramoss. The name meant Lady in Mourning.

  Mliss suddenly said, “You have not asked me about the family."

  Map replied, “I didn't like to."

  "Heng is dead, but you knew that. Our younger sister is dead. I thought all of us were dead,” she said.