Roachville
Chapter 8. Stingray

The bug vibrated like an angry hornet in my pocket as I reached the car. Despite the unknown number, I answered like a slave to his master. You never know, it might be a publishing house whose editor had seen the light at last and wanted me to translate the complete works of Boris Vian for a large amount of money.

‘Hello! How can I help you?’

’Allo, je voudrais parler à Annika Roy?’

’C’est moi,’ I said, entering into alarm mode as I recognized the voice, aka Wonder Granny from the interpreting assignment.

‘I need to see you,’ she said.

‘Um, sure…’

‘How about in half an hour at the Jazz Café on Gloucester Road. Have you heard of it?’

‘Yes, I know where you mean.’

Even though she had insisted she wanted me to be her interpreter, I hadn’t given it much thought. Maybe Vi was right, and I was blocking things.

‘So will you be there?’ She snapped me back to reality.

‘Yes, okay. Why not? I’ll be there.’

The Jazz Café? Not a place I would have associated with an old lady from the Far East who didn’t speak English. But hey, it was a free country and apart from getting some clothes out of the washing machine, it wasn’t like I had a million things planned for the evening.

I drove off in search of the best parking possibility and Montpelier seemed like a good choice. I went back through St-Werburghs, across St Pauls and up Ashley Down Road. By now the streets leading to the motorway were filled with cars, bumpers nudging closer and closer to each other.

I had also lived around here before taking the plunge as a freelancer. Driving along the tightly packed houses made me miss this area. Mac and I should have never moved away. So what if you never knew whether your car’s tyres would still be intact after a lively Saturday night? Truth be told, I felt so much more alive in this part of town. But regret is a useless emotion, so all I could do now was to scan the streets and find a place for my car. Parking wasn’t my strong suit and I started sweating just thinking about it, but I was in luck with a long easy space at the top of Richmond Road.

I slammed the door shut and headed down the steep hill. The humming buzz of the traffic drifted in the distance and invisible birds twittered as I walked past the front gardens of tall skinny facades. There was something sweet in the air and the early evening light turned everything soft and pink. Even the junkie girl coming towards me wasn’t her usual shade of grey. Nevertheless, I had learnt from a previous encounter to try to look tough and inaccessible. In Cheltenham Road there were plenty more weirdos, so I let my legs speed up to the Jazz Café. Inside it was blue, small and quiet. I didn’t recognize the tune that was on, but then again, I didn’t know much about jazz. It sounded good, though, and I ordered a lemon soda and sat down in a corner. After that I killed time by dissecting an imaginary cockroach in my head.

The Asian lady made her entrance soon afterwards. As before, she sported perfect hair and her trademark poker face. I was wearing a sparkly black tank top, black jeans and scruffy hair with a couple of thin plaits. She wanted a soft drink and insisted upon a straw. After ordering from the sleepy barman, I had no idea how to kick-start the conversation.

‘You must be wondering what the other day was about,’ she said eventually.

‘Yes.’ I looked her in the eyes. ‘Actually I am.’

‘Well, I want to try and explain things to you. My name is Phuong and I am from a small country called Laos. Do you know anything about it?’

‘Not that much. I know that it used to be a French colony. I think it’s now ruled by a communist government and it’s in South-East Asia between Thailand and Cambodia?’

‘That’s correct. I don’t expect Westerners to know much about my country but this is more than most could have told me.’ She stared at me.

In actual fact I probably knew more about Laos than people my age because my own grandmother, Alice, had been born in the former French Indochina. She had lived in Ventiane, Laos’ capital, and had arrived in France with her parents in 1954 after the end of the Indochina war. She’d never spoken about this period of her life and I’d always assumed she had been ashamed of having belonged – although unwillingly – to the colonizers’ side. And now, as Phuong gazed fixedly at me, I understood the reasons my grandmother had remained secretive about her early life. Even though, just like her, I could hardly be blamed for what had happened decades before, I chose not to mention my tenuous link to Laos.

The waiter came back to our table with Phuong’s drink. She paused for a moment. Her features looked harsh as she examined the glass filled with orange bubbles.

‘I am going to reveal things that are of extreme importance to me and that very few people know about.’

‘Are you sure I am the best person to talk to? In fact, wouldn’t it be better if we went somewhere more private?’ I whispered, looking around for invisible enemies.

‘No, this will do fine, nobody will pay much attention to us here.’

I inhaled deeply. She was right; the very few customers in here didn’t seem interested in us. This all felt a bit ridiculous to me, but also possibly dangerous. I was tempted to walk off, but I had, after all, agreed to meet her so I shut up and prepared to listen. With an open mind. Phuong took a sip of her drink and began.

’I left Laos in 1975 after the communists had taken over and sent all the so-called intellectuals to labour camps. My father was a teacher and so the whole family was branded as enemies of the state. I managed to escape with my husband by crossing the River Mekong into Thailand. We had to leave our family behind and to this day I don’t know what has happened to them…

’My husband and I settled in Chang Mai, a large city in the north of Thailand, where we stayed for fifteen years.

’It was very hard at first, as we had been used to comparatively high comfort and now we were reduced to poverty, working all hours of the day in menial jobs just to survive. And of course, we had to live with the thought that our families could be dead or imprisoned.

‘The only object that I was able to take away from Laos was a gift from my grandmother. She had been the village healer and had been passing on her knowledge of plants and animals to me. In fact, after a few months in Thailand, I began to use my skills on our neighbours in return for food and other commodities.’

She looked hard into my eyes, as if weighing some important decision.

‘This gift from my grandmother was precious to my family. Not so much for its material value, which is immense, but because it had been secretly passed on from times unknown and it was crucial that it didn’t end up in the wrong hands… Now, you may disregard what I will tell you next.’ Her face became even more serious than before. ’But I ask you to listen carefully, as you will come to realize that everything I’m telling you is true and that it very much concerns you.

’This gift, cherished from generation to generation, is a wooden statuette representing a small river creature. We call it the ‘naga’. It is possible that nagas are a type of seahorse, real animals that are very rare and live in just a few places in the world. It is thought that there used to be some in the Mekong but it is not known when they were last seen. People in Laos believe they are mystical creatures with magical powers. The naga statues are themselves ancient and I believe this one could be the last one left. Of course, I am a believer in its magic and so I have done everything to protect it and keep its existence as secret as possible.’

‘A type of seahorse?’ I asked. ‘Do you mean a seahorse with long limbs – like a leafy sea dragon?’

Phuong’s dark eyes locked onto mine. ‘Yes, exactly. What makes you say this?’

‘I’m just trying to form a picture in my mind, that’s all.’ I tapped my fingers on the table as she narrowed her eyes.

’As I said before, my husband and I stayed in Chang Mai for fifteen years. Our situation improved over time and we had a daughter. After a few years, my husband who had supported us by working in a shoe factory, managed to get a part-time teaching job in the local university. You see, when we fled Luang Prabang in Laos, he had been studying archaeology. Luang Prabang was the perfect place to study history. It is the ancient capital of Laos, a jewel by the Mekong, with more exquisite monuments and temples from the powerful Khmer times than anywhere else in the country. When the time came to leave Laos, my husband had almost finished his studies and he planned to become an archaeologist. Well, that was not possible anymore, but teaching was far better than gluing rubber soles for the rest of his life. After a few years of teaching at the university, he was approached by a strange foreigner, an old man from Belgium. This man, called Gaspard Van de Rivière, specialized in Khmer history and he was very keen to find authentic artefacts. He was planning an expedition along the Mekong in the Lao jungle. Of course my husband was enthusiastic about the idea straight away. On the other hand, I felt very uneasy. My biggest worry was that they would be captured by the communists who would realize that my husband had escaped from Laos. Knowing of my doubts, my husband insisted that I met Gaspard so I could judge for myself.

’I relented and found out that he was much older than I had thought – in his seventies. He walked with a cane, and his thin legs didn’t seem strong enough to support his paunchy belly. He explained he had walked too much in his life and that the bones of his legs were very fragile: ‘like eggshells’ were the words he used. He wanted to explore and record the banks of the Mekong before the communists and the smugglers looted and sold all the artefacts. He had been doing studies along rivers in other parts of South-East Asia and now he wanted to carry on there.

’I could tell his motives were genuine and I took an instant liking to him. He showed me all the official authorizations he had obtained from the Thai government, which convinced me at last.

’The next month, they left along with a boy to help. They were away for two weeks and came back, to my great relief, on the expected day. They had managed to cover a few villages and recover a few pieces.

’This went on for a few years. My husband worked at the university and every six months or so Gaspard van de Rivière knocked on our door and took my husband on a new expedition.

‘Our daughter, whom we named Mei after my grandmother, was growing and despite the underlying shadow of having lost our families, life was easier. We were better off because of the salary from the university and the extra money given by Gaspard. I also received gifts and sometimes money donated by sick people I had helped in our neighbourhood. As Mei turned five, it was time to start teaching her my knowledge of plants. Gaspard became a friend of the family and we grew fond of him and his eccentric ways. Things could have stayed as they were, but it seems that in this life change is the only constant…’ Phuong shook her head and sighed before finishing her drink. ’One night, whilst on an expedition, my husband and Gaspard got drunk. Very drunk. My husband told Gaspard how we had run away from Laos and had been forced to leave our families. They kept drinking and my husband couldn’t stop talking, pouring his heart out to his old friend. He ended up hinting at the existence of the naga statue. It goes without saying that Gaspard, who had dedicated his life to archaeology, was fascinated. He pressed my husband for more information and he couldn’t help but want to see it. He had heard rumours of these mythical objects and there was one just under his nose. I refused to show it to him for as long as I could. I thought no good would come of it. But he was relentless and driven like a rabid dog, and in the end I gave in.

‘To my great relief, once he had seen it he didn’t ask for anything else, and life seemed to get back to normal for a while. Still, unease would creep over me now and then, but every time I tried to put it into words to my husband, he just changed the subject or laughed it off.’

Phuong gazed around, although I didn’t think she was seeing the café and the people surrounding us. Her story had taken her far away from here and I had jumped on board. I couldn’t deny it: Phuong had reeled me in, and we might as well be sitting at the roots of a giant fig tree. The lines of my reality started to blur. As she opened her mouth again, her voice sounded worn out and the wrinkles on her forehead became more pronounced.

‘I think I have told you enough for now and I don’t feel ready to tell you the rest of my story just yet. But I must warn you that the statue of the naga is what Kenneth Tann is after and I have no intention of giving it to him. As I said, the naga has mysterious powers and it is true that it is not with me anymore. I went out of my hotel room a couple of days ago and when I came back it was gone. In my opinion it was taken away by somebody who had access to my room: maybe a chamber maid or someone passing by. Kenneth Tann was asking the hotel manager about his staff.’

‘How do you know that?’ I asked. Phuong smiled again. I guessed she was pleased that I was asking questions, but she wasn’t making it easy for me.

‘I’m not alone and I know that the naga has decided it wasn’t safe to be with me anymore, so it is looking for a new keeper, albeit a temporary one.’

She plunged her eyes into mine and I blinked.

‘I mean you.’

‘Why would you think that?’

She took my hands into hers and held them hard, bringing her face very close to mine. She kept her stare on me and I felt hypnotised.

‘Don’t you feel that it is you? Have you not noticed anything strange in the last few days?’

Now was the time to mention the dragon creature I had dreamt about and its exquisite replica in the garden shop. Could it be the naga?

‘Aside from the strangest interpreting assignment of my career, no, nothing strange,’ I lied.

‘The naga has chosen you and I have no doubt you will find out why it has to be you. But for now I beg you to believe me.’

She let go of my hands. There were white marks where she had held me, as if from the grip of a boa constrictor.

‘Very soon Kenneth Tann will contact you again and you must not tell him about our meeting. He might seem charming…’ (Kenneth Tann’s dream-hands groping my breasts flashed through my mind and I hoped she couldn’t read it), ‘but don’t let his angelic face fool you.’

I wanted to believe her, and certainly Kenneth Tann was unsettling, but how could I know which of the two was telling the truth?

‘Why shouldn’t I tell him anything? I need to know more before I get involved.’

‘Don’t you want to become involved?’

‘I don’t know… Maybe… I get the feeling this could be somehow risky.’

‘Yes, it could be risky, but is there so much going on in your life that you need to be so cautious?’

‘Okay, fine, there’s nothing going on in my pathetic life, but what’s it to you? Why should I trust you? What’s in it for me?’

Phuong leaned back in her chair and exhaled deeply.

‘Much more than you think…’ Her face went back into lock-down mode. I crossed my arms and averted my gaze.

‘You’re right.’ She gave in. ‘I should give you more information. But I’m exhausted and upset. I have been running away from Kenneth Tann for a long time and I’ve had enough. Now he has caught up with me and I think I almost let him...’ She was mumbling now, almost talking to herself.

Intrigued, I gazed back at her. She stared at her hands as if they held the keys to an ancient enigma.

‘Why does Kenneth Tann want the naga so badly? Tell me. Please.’

Phuong furrowed her brow.

‘Tann looks much younger than me, but we are about the same age, in our late fifties.’

‘Where is he from?’

’Malaysia. So he doesn’t speak French and I don’t speak English, which is why we need you as an interpreter. I don’t know the exact circumstances that led him to hear about the naga. Although the naga would fetch an enormous price on the underground market and make him incredibly rich, I believe the naga has become an obsession for him, his raison d’être, and this has been so for a very long time, probably ever since he was a young man.’

‘So why don’t you just sell it to him? Maybe he would leave you alone.’ I shrugged.

A sudden icy breeze flew from Phuong towards me.

I cleared my throat. ‘I guess he wouldn’t leave you alone…’

Phuong sighed and finished her drink. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve just been thrown into this and you don’t know what he is capable of. Tann would not let me be once he got the naga. He would get rid of me and my daughter and anybody that had something to do with it. Besides, I cannot give him the naga, unless the naga told me to. There is a dark reason that is linked to Tann’s childhood. The naga has given me hints…’ she paused and observed me, picking her words with great care, ‘dark hints, that if Kenneth Tann were to become the naga’s possessor, terrible things would happen.’

‘Terrible things would happen.’ I echoed her words. ‘What terrible things?’

‘I’m not exactly sure.’ She shook her head resolutely. ‘But you have to believe me.’

I frowned.

‘So if you think that Kenneth Tann would do terrible things if he had the naga, why did you leave it unguarded in your hotel room?’

‘Because it told me to. Up to a couple of weeks ago, my daughter and I lived in the south-west of France and Kenneth Tann found us. The naga told me to come here and then to go away leaving it in my hotel room for a few hours. I went out and when I came back it was gone. Twenty minutes later, Kenneth Tann was at Hotel Blue’s reception, asking in his most enticing manner to see me. Of course, once he was in my hotel bedroom, his ways changed. He and his accomplice went through every single one of my belongings and searched the hotel room thoroughly. He doesn’t speak French and I don’t speak English and we needed an interpreter. He still needs me to get hold of the naga, which is why I’m still alive. I looked in the yellow pages and when I saw your name, I knew it had to be you. The naga has chosen you to be its next keeper. I don’t know why and I don’t know for how long, but the experience you will have will be entirely specific to you. I believe you will have to make a choice and I urge you to trust me and to take care of the naga. You will have to protect it, but in the end you will return it to me, so that I can go back to my country. This is as much as I know and as much as I can say to you, because in order for things to work, you will have to make a leap of faith.’

‘You mean that if I don’t start believing there are some unexplained mysterious happenings in this world, the naga won’t come to me? I’m still not sure why I should want it at all.’

She closed her eyes for an instant. ‘Take a look inside yourself and trust your instincts. Not everything you see is as it seems.’ Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Those were Phuong’s last words to me. She gave me one last intense look, got up, bowed slightly and melted into the crowd. I was left stranded in a sea of noises, trying to take it all in, but my mind floated like a balloon attached to a child’s hand by a thin piece of string. I had been mesmerised by Phuong’s tale and I wanted to know what was to come next – but there was something else. The dragon I had seen today in the garden shop, the one from my dream. The leafy sea dragon. I didn’t want to tell her; not yet, anyway. It was as if a tiny stingray was waking me up from inside, as if I had been dead to the world for too long and a little part of me was curious again. So should I go back to the garden shop right now to see the dragon again? How would that go down with the dreamy gardener?

I checked my phone; it was gone 10 pm on a Saturday night and the café had filled up. My ears vibrated with the sounds of jazz, but there was no way I was going to enjoy this music now, and it was too late to go back to the garden shop. Besides, I had to process Phuong’s story. Laotian refugees. A Belgian archaeologist. A magic statue. A very good-looking villain. I needed to get out of the noisy crowd right now and ponder with the help of a joint.

I gulped the last of the lemon soda and made my way to the car. Driving back through the dark streets, all I could concentrate on was the loud buzz inside my head. I was amazed when I got home in one piece.

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