Siri was just leaving Hay Sok temple when he saw his nameless monk beside the exit. There he sat, quite unashamedly, on the back of a concrete lion beside the path where all the real monks could see him.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Siri said.
“And why not, Yeh Ming?”
“According to the abbot, you don’t exist.”
“Don’t you see me, Yeh Ming? Don’t you hear my voice?”
“I’m sure you exist, or existed as a person, but not as a monk at this temple at this time. I described your tattoos to him, and he swears there’s no such monk as you at his temple.”
“Perhaps nobody else noticed my tattoos.”
“Perhaps nobody else noticed you.”
“It’s possible. I find that more and more people fail to see things that are right under their noses. Tell me, did you solve your weretiger mystery?”
“Parts of it. I’m still not satisfied. But at least he’s dead.”
“Then I don’t see what there is to worry about.”
“I don’t know why he died.”
“It sounds like it was his time.”
“Yes. There’s no doubt about that. But if he killed himself, he did so in a most awful and bizarre way.”
“Describe it to me.”
“He ripped his own head half off. I don’t know what could possess a man to do such a thing.”
“I imagine any number of things could have possessed him.”
“For example?”
“I’ve seen such bizarre things before. Things even more horrible.”
“You have? I can’t imagine anything worse than ripping your own head off.”
“Oh dear, yes. Imagine that you looked at the end of your leg and saw that a rat had eaten your foot. It was still there, about to gnaw its way up your shin. Wouldn’t you do anything you could to shake that rat off?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t you hit it with a hammer if you had one—cut it with a sword?”
“Yes.”
“So all that’s necessary is to convince you there’s a rat on your leg. To a man who already has delusions that he’s a weretiger, I wouldn’t think it too difficult to convince him his head wasn’t his own. He would certainly believe his head was a poison toadstool or a blowfish—”
“Or a chicken?”
“It’s possible. He wasn’t ripping off his head. He was fighting off the illusion that had been planted there.”
“By whom?”
“Any one of a number of spirits. There are many watching over you. They’re always with you.”
“Are you one of them?”
The monk stood and smiled.
“Ah, no. I’m just an old monk.”
“Then you wouldn’t object to my shaking your hand, old monk.”
“It isn’t appropriate.”
He turned and started to walk into the dark shadows of the temple moon trees. Siri called after him.
“There’s an old woman. She has a penchant for betel nut. She was in the tunnel.”
“I know her,” the monk called back without turning round.
“She wasn’t one of my clients. I don’t recognize her.”
“You knew her, but you were too young to remember. She has more interest in keeping you alive than any of us.”
“Who is she?”
The monk was just another shadow between the trees now.
“Even coroners have mothers, Yeh Ming. Even coroners.”
The black Malay bear lay on her back and stretched her limbs like a well-fed housecat. She couldn’t stop this feeling of bliss from spreading to her smiling mouth. She had at last experienced kindness and it was a marvelous feeling.
She had more food than she could eat in a lifetime. She had a new fashionable design on her fur. Her wounds and sores had been treated, and she’d felt love from humans—a species she’d only ever known as hostile.
She’d escaped from the truck on the second night of her rescue when it stopped at the gate of Silver City. They were transferring her from a room at the Soviet clinic where her maladies were treated. She believed she must have been on her way to the abattoir. Her instinct told her to take advantage of this comparative freedom and seek out the shaman. It told her he was close by. She followed her nose to his house and lay in wait in the lot behind his yard.
Yeh Ming lived inside an old man. When the host slept, the bear asked the shaman for help. He allowed her to share thoughts for a time with her ancestors. He told her not to fear these new events in her life. She’d suffered so much unfortunate karma already, what remained could only be good. Her next life would be wonderful. She should seek out the people who had taken her from the hotel.
She thanked him and went to search for the gates of Silver City. It took her the longest time to find them. She was used up. Her natural senses were draining away. She wouldn’t see out this hot season, but her last months would be the happiest she’d known.
She lay on her back there in the large cage, took hold of a bunch of ladyfinger bananas in both paws, squeezed them like a concertina player, and sucked out the delicious fruit.