Read Online Cambodian Book of the Dead by Tom Vater - Free Book Online Page B

learn about life on its damn head. Back home everything was too much and too little at the same time. And every fucking hippy I passed in the street shouted abuse at me. I had to ask myself whether I qualified as a war criminal or not. How much of your responsibility can you shift to others? I had changed into something else in the East. I was burnt out from being burnt out. I couldn’t face queuing up in a supermarket. Never again.”
    Maier nodded and lifted his glass.
    â€œI would like another vodka orange.”
    Les seemed to be adrift in reminiscences, and stood nervously fumbling with the napkins on his bar. Was there a signal or did the Vietnamese have the ears of a bat? Maier was not sure, but seconds later, he had a second glass in his hand and the young woman was already disappearing back into the kitchen.
    â€œYou know the rest. We never forgave the Vietnamese and that’s why we supported the KR in the Eighties – embargo, famine, civil conflict – that’s the American way of war. Until UNTAC turned up, with guys like you in the luggage.”
    The American laughed without malice.
    Maier’d had enough history lessons and changed the subject.
    â€œAnd how long have you been in Kep?”
    Les looked into his eyes for a second and lowered his voice.
    â€œBlack op, buddy, you catch my drift. I may be an alcoholic, but I ain’t stupid. You’re no tourist and in a second you’re gonna tell me that you’ve come here to buy land. And then you carry on asking questions.”
    Maier did not think too long about his answer. It was too early to make enemies in Kep.
    â€œI am looking for a piece of land. I have heard that Kep will soon participate in the national economic boom.”
    â€œSoon.” The old vet laughed. “Maier, if I stumble across a piece in the dark, I’ll keep it warm for you. Ha-ha. You’re alright, aren’t you?”
    â€œI am alright. And an old friend of Carissa Stevenson.”
    Les passed Maier the joint.
    â€œIf you’d told me that earlier… Carissa celebrated her last birthday in this shack, back in May. Carissa is my soul sister. As long as my joint is open, she’s got credit.”
    A barang entered. Within a split second, the light in Les’ eyes faded.
    â€œHowdy, Maupai.”
    The new arrival pulled a sour face. He looked like a man who’d recently retired to a life of leisure and had not yet worked out what to do with free time at his disposal. He was about the same age as Les, in his mid-sixties, but he was a different type altogether. A man who’d probably spent his entire life in the same job and the same marriage. If such people could live here – the man was obviously not a tourist, he was wearing a worn but reasonably clean linen suit, a white shirt, the three top buttons undone – then Cambodia was on its way. But where?
    Maupai had thick grey hair that fell in a lock that was too heavy for its own good across his forehead. A gold chain hung around his neck. A French bank director perhaps, used to the good life, who had aspirations to be a bit mid-career Belmondo or late-career Cassel. More like Belmondo with a season ticket for the opera.
    â€œMy wife is not well. And the doctors talk about the sea breeze.”
    â€œYour wife’s not well, cause you’re always in a foul mood and because you screw the local girls.”
    â€œA beer.”
    Les shrugged. The Vietnamese woman handed the man a can of Angkor. “ My Country, My Beer ” it said on the can. He looked across at Maier, lit an Alain Delon, Cambodia’s fanciest cigarette, and raised his can.
    â€œBe careful if you are considering buying land in Kep, monsieur. Many of the documents of the old properties which you will be shown are fakes.”
    Maier tried his most respectable smile.
    â€œIs real estate the only subject people talk about?”
    The man nervously brushed his hair from his eyes