The Dying Beach (26 page)

‘Those closest to the deceased usually take flowers.'

Paul wasn't sure whether that meant him or not.

‘Only you should not be smelling any flowers you intend to give to the monks or your nose will be deformed in the next life. That is what Thai people believe.'

‘I'll keep that in mind.'

‘And be taking care not to spit. Thai people believe it will bring bad luck if you spit at a funeral.'

‘Right,' Paul said. ‘I mean, I don't normally spit in public. Is there anything else I should know? Other than the obvious ones like not touching people on the head or pointing with my feet.'

‘Thai people believe you shouldn't point your finger at a monk or you will lose your finger.'

Paul wasn't sure whether to take him seriously.

‘They also say not to attend a cremation if you have a scratch or it will become infected,' Jayne piped up as she joined them. ‘But we're not going to let that stop us.'

Rajiv smiled as if caught out. ‘These are just superstitions I am telling him.'

‘You're probably freaking him out.' She turned to Paul. ‘The rule with Thai funerals is follow the lead of the Thais. The villagers will let us know what to do. Be prepared to be singled out for stuff because you're a farang. We bring honour to the deceased by being there. No one will care if you make a mistake. Don't worry.'

‘And don't spit. I get it,' Paul said, winking at Rajiv. ‘Tell me, Jayne, was your morning as enlightening as mine?'

She sat down at their table, placing a red, white and blue plastic bag on the ground next to Paul. ‘The good news is the old man, Bapit, looks like he'll pull through.'

‘Is there bad news?' Paul asked.

‘The police have cleared Othong of any involvement in Pla's death. I'm sorry, but it looks like we're back to square one.'

‘But we do not have the means—' Rajiv began.

Jayne raised her hand. ‘I'm not suggesting we extend the investigation. I know we can't afford it. I'm just sorry it's come to this.' She turned to Paul. ‘Everything Pla owned is in that bag, including her notes from the consultations. You should have it.' She looked at the bag as though hesitant to let it go.

‘You've done your best,' Paul said, aware of sounding hollow. ‘More than anyone could have asked.'

‘Except maybe Pla herself,' Jayne said.

Paul leaned forward and touched Jayne's arm. ‘Pla would have been overwhelmed by your efforts on her behalf. Both your efforts,' he added, seeing the look on Rajiv's face.

Jayne stood up. ‘At least we can give Pla a decent send-off. Let's meet back here at four. We'll swing past the Krabi market and pick up supplies on the way to the temple.'

Rajiv stood up. ‘I'll come with you.' He pulled a wallet from his pocket but Paul waved him away.

‘Let me shout you a coffee, mate.' Paul watched them leave. It might have been his imagination, but Jayne seemed diminished somehow, as if the spring had left her step. Rajiv must have sensed it, too, as Paul saw him place an arm around Jayne's shoulders. She responded by leaning into him as though sad, or exhausted, or both.

Paul gingerly opened the bag she'd left for him and rifled briefly through the contents. Everything Pla owned, Jayne had said. In his emotional state, Paul found it heartbreaking that she could have accumulated so little—as though she'd known she wasn't long for this world.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and hooked out Pla's wallet and notebook. He had no idea what to do with the rest of her things. His first impulse was to ask Jayne for advice, but he remembered her head against Rajiv's chest and thought better of it. Singh, the hotel owner, could probably help.

He paid the bill and headed back to his room to iron his funeral clothes.

44

While Rajiv had read up on the customs, Jayne was the only one of them who'd attended a Thai funeral before, although she didn't elaborate on the circumstances. With businesslike efficiency, she steered Rajiv and Paul to the section of the market devoted to temple offerings and loaded them up with monks' robes and a floral wreath. Paul paid for it all, including the white cotton shawl Jayne chose to cover her sleeveless black dress.

The Australian man looked uncomfortable in his formal attire. His cheeks were flushed and there was a spot of blood on his shirt collar from a shaving cut. From the moment they descended from the
songthaew
outside the temple, he stuck close to Jayne as if she could somehow shield him from the inevitable attention of the crowd.

Pla's coffin had been moved from the hall where the chanting took place to the crematorium in the temple grounds, where it rested alongside a stool with a tray on it. A strip of gold cloth from beneath the coffin lid hung across the tray. A framed photo of Pla, unsmiling in her Barracuda Tours shirt, was propped against the coffin, enlarged from an ID photo, judging from the poor quality.

Rajiv had read there was often entertainment at Thai funerals—theatrical performances, even dancing—but Pla's was a simple affair. The headman from Pakasai village, Amnat, stepped forward, wearing long pants and a button-down shirt so new it had fold marks from the packaging. He cleared his throat before launching into a speech.

‘Amnat is talking about Pla's life,' Jayne translated for Paul's benefit. ‘Miss Chanida was born in the town of Khanom in Nakhon Si Thammarat province in 1974. She lost her parents at a young age and was raised by an aunt. She was a hard worker. She taught herself English. She came to Krabi two years ago. She was a popular tour guide in Ao Nang, a good swimmer. He's making a joke about her being called Fish and swimming like a fish…' Her voice faltered and Rajiv suspected it was the unsolved mystery of Pla's death that stuck in her throat.

‘He says Pla helped the villagers throughout Neua Khlong district in their negotiations over the power plant. He says thanks to Pla, the mosque in Pakasai village has been repaired and Huay Sok village will have access to clean water.' She paused again.

‘Is he saying something about foreigners?' Paul whispered.

‘He's acknowledging us, Pla's farang friends who are here today and who have supported this funeral ceremony. He is sad that no one from Pla's family could be here.'

It seemed to Rajiv that there was more to it but Jayne didn't translate the details.

‘Amnat is now inviting the mourners who've brought robes for the monks to present them. That's your cue, Paul.'

The Australian stepped forward. Even stooping, he was head and shoulders above everyone else. He placed the robes they'd bought on the tray in front of the coffin and backed away with his hands pressed to his forehead. A young monk came forward to accept them. The next to donate robes was Mae Yada, the matron from Pakasai village, followed by a small group from Barracuda Tours.

‘What's with that piece of cloth coming from inside the coffin?' Paul asked.

‘It signifies that the robes are donated on behalf of the deceased,' Rajiv said. ‘In the old days, the monks were taking the rags from dead bodies to make their robes. By donating the robes at the funeral, the monks do not have to be using rags anymore.'

Paul shuddered. ‘Sorry I asked.'

A woman Rajiv recognised as Amnat's daughter wandered among the crowd offering the mourners a buff-coloured flower from her bouquet. Up close, Rajiv saw they were not real but had been delicately fashioned from wood shavings.

‘
Dok mai jan
,' Jayne said as she took one. ‘You place it on the tray under the coffin. It symbolises that we are helping to fuel the fire.' She turned to Paul. ‘If you want, when you place the flower you can knock three times on the coffin,
wai
, and tell the person you forgive them for any wrongdoings, to put their spirit at ease.'

‘Can you ask for their forgiveness if the wrongdoings were on your part?'

‘Up to you,' she said.

Tears welled in Paul's eyes.

‘Try not to be crying,' Rajiv said gently to him. ‘Thai people believe the deceased will become anxious if your tears fall on them, and they will have to swim through your tears to reach heaven.'

The three of them filed past, adding their flowers to the pile. Jayne knocked on the coffin, Rajiv managed a
wai
, while Paul could only bite his lip and look away. When all mourners had paid their respects, a man in a navy safari suit made his way forward, wielding a hammer.

‘What the hell's he doing with that?' Paul hissed.

‘He's removing the ornaments decorating the coffin.' Another practice Rajiv had gleaned from his reading.

‘Seems a bit callous.'

Rajiv was going to make an observation about poor people not wasting resources but decided against it.

‘We can go now if you'd rather not see the coffin placed in the crematorium,' Jayne said to Paul.

‘I want to stay,' he said, transfixed by the man with the hammer.

‘I should warn you, they'll open the coffin lid before they put it in the oven.' Jayne said.

‘Oh god, really?'

‘It's to say the last goodbye,' Rajiv added.

Paul looked horrified but did not move as the man with the hammer started prising off the coffin lid. Most of the mourners had dispersed, but Jayne, Paul and Rajiv stayed as the lid was removed. Pla's corpse was wrapped in white like a mummy. The man exchanged his hammer for a machete. Amnat handed him a green coconut, which he sliced open in one hit.

Rajiv thought fleetingly of his father's funeral, and his older brother, wearing white, his head shaved in mourning, lifting a clay jar over his head and letting it smash on the ground behind him.
It is finished
.

One of the senior monks poured the coconut juice into Pla's coffin before a group of young men lifted it from the stand and pushed it into the chamber of the crematorium. Several mourners took the opportunity to throw in a last
dok mai jan
before the oven door was closed.

The man with the machete began clearing the funeral props. With a glance at the smoke wafting from the crematorium's tall white chimney, Paul turned and walked away. Rajiv and Jayne followed, but Amnat and Mae Yada headed them off. They were accompanied by a third man Rajiv did not recognise, who looked too glossy to be a fellow villager.

The two elders spoke at length with Jayne. Their accents made it hard for Rajiv to pick up much, but they kept mentioning the word ‘farang' and nodding at Paul. The third man twisted the gold signet ring around his little finger and said nothing.

‘Uncle Amnat says everyone believes Pla's ashes should be returned to her hometown in Nakhon Si Thammarat province,' Jayne explained. ‘He wants to know if Paul will take them.'

‘Me?'

‘None of the villagers can afford to make the trip. Even on a volunteer stipend, you make more money than they do.'

‘W-what if I covered the costs for someone else to go?' Paul asked.

‘It's not that simple. They can't afford to spend time away from their livelihoods and family responsibilities.'

Amnat spoke again and Jayne translated. ‘There are regular buses daily from Krabi to Nakhon Si Thammarat town. You need to get a share taxi from there to Khanom. It's best to stay overnight as it's three or four hours by bus, followed by another two hours by taxi.'

‘But I haven't agreed to go,' Paul said. ‘I don't speak enough Thai to do it on my own. I mean, I'd be willing to go if—' He looked from Jayne to Rajiv and back again. ‘Any chance the two of you would come with me?'

Jayne blushed. Rajiv steeled himself, waiting for her to plead her case, wondering what tack she would take. Would she try to convince him to come along or to let her go? Would she make it about helping Paul or making her peace with Pla?

‘I'm sorry but we can't afford to spend any more time away from the business,' she said.

Not the response Rajiv had anticipated. He felt guilty for having underestimated her.

‘You will not be needing the two of us,' he found himself saying. ‘Jayne is the one who is speaking Thai. She could accompany you while I return to Bangkok and attend to our affairs.'

‘Are you sure you can spare her, mate?' Paul asked.

Though not entirely comfortable with the Australian's habitual use of ‘mate' as a form of address—where Rajiv came from, mate had a different connotation—he nodded. ‘It's up to Jayne, of course.'

She looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘I'd like to help take Pla's ashes home.'

‘Then it's settled.'

‘I'd better let Amnat know,' Jayne said.

The old man flashed his gap-toothed grin in response and even Mae Yada smiled. They gestured at the crematorium and spoke for a few more minutes. The man with the gold signet ring handed Jayne an envelope, gave her a
wai
and joined the exodus from the temple grounds.

‘What was all that about?' Paul asked.

‘They said the ashes will be ready for collection in the morning. We can stop by on our way to the bus station.'

‘And the mysterious stranger?' Rajiv nodded at the envelope in Jayne's hand.

‘The owner of Barracuda Tours, Pla's boss. Says he was out of town and only yesterday learned of Pla's death. I think he's worried about losing face because a couple of farangs and the local villagers covered the funeral costs for one of his employees.'

The light was fading as they walked towards the roadside. Above the entrance to the temple a fluorescent tube flickered on and was mobbed by gnats within seconds. Jayne paused to check the contents of the envelope.

‘There's two thousand five hundred baht in here. More than enough to cover the trip to Nakhon Si Thammarat.'

Rajiv smiled. Just Jayne's luck to agree to a trip that would put her out of pocket only for someone to step in at the eleventh hour to pay for it. She might profess to be an atheist, but that didn't stop the gods and goddesses of good fortune smiling on Jayne Keeney.