Mordecaise rose from his 1st class seat the moment the aircraft door opened while passengers behind queued for the slow promenade to exit. He did not check any luggage and had passed through the exits of the terminal in search of a Taxi, when two behemoths materialized on either side of him flashing official badges with a bearing that Mordecaise recognized as authentic functionary. The long waiting executive model police vehicle at the curb with open doors confirmed his guess. He entered the vehicle minus the two golems who closed the door behind him. He was facing a portly fellow who spoke English with a slight German accent, Sr. Liszt, so good to finally meet you. We’ve been waiting anxiously for your arrival with questions regarding the disappearance of one Domhall Schmuck. Please accept our hospitality during this investigation pertaining to our National Security.” The rotund face contained pinkish jowls and pursed lips giving the appearance of a hamster chewing when he spoke. Finishing with this practiced pronouncement, the fat man sat back into the aging leather upholstery, appearing like any senior citizen resigned to waiting for a bus.
“Am I in custody?” Mordecaise asked gazing tiredly in the direction of his captor.
“Si señor, but we prefer to think of it as hospitality,” the incurious man responded gazing out the car’s darkened windows.
“If I’m in custody, what is the charge; may I ask?”
“Manipulation of Sovereign Currency of Mexico.” The portly man said simply without a trace of guile, watching Mordecaise’ face intently while he said it.
“Am I allowed a phone call” replied Mordecaise, raising his empty palm, more as command than than polite request.
“Cierto.” as Mordecaise’ phone materialized in his hand, as a gambit he placed the phone in his jacket pocket where it stayed.
+-+-+-
When Pasqual woke, it took some minutes to orient that he was on another continent; the smell of black coffee mixed with the smell of petrichor and gentle rain outside his window. His bag had remained packed while his body reeked of travel and anxiety odor. The temperature was oppressive and location of the fan stand made good sense once the blades began to purr - a shower and clean clothes anchored his appetite and encouraged his curiosity about the unfamiliar sounds outside his door.
A powerfully petite woman greeted him amicably at the opened utility closet outside his door. “Chào buổi sáng” she chirped, meaning nothing at all to Pasqual but possibly hello.
Guided by instinct and smell, he pinched his fingers together miming gulps while pointing in the direction of the strong aroma of fresh brewed coffee; the pretty woman returned to her work pointing down the covered hallway with a knowing smile.
He entered the compact dining room, taking a seat closest to the door he’d entered - two young couples were engaged in serious destination research and took little notice of the bedraggled caffeine junky jonesing for a fix.
No longer the enchanting local ingenue from the night before, Tieh the homestay own/manager placed a piping hot glass of Ca Phe down with a menu and a distant smile in a warm kind of way before turning back to her staff and guests. Tieh’s brother, Lung Ngong stuck his head through the door and handed a folded paper to Tieh, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared. Halfway through the finest coffee Pasqual could remember, Tieh handed the folded paper to Pasqual explaining it was a contact who might be able to help with both of his inquiries.
Somehow the breakfast was more invigorating than the coffee elixir, yet Pasqual’s decision to return to his room resulted in another 8 hours of sleep, out of which he woke trembling from dreams he could feel as though still asleep, but of which he recalled nothing, though sweating like a pig in the darkened room. Ravenously hungry Pasqual ventured out the door of his new home in search of food. The kitchen was dark and the dining room locked. He took his keys to the gate and passed into the streets of a foreign nation. Stopping at the first restaurant he found with a sign he could decipher “Cafe Banh Mi Diámetro”, Pasqual stepped inside, took a seat and asked the waitress for a beer and a menu; then addressing her apparent confusion by miming the opening of a book; she returned a minute later with a menu. He chose “The Hoi An Buffalo Burger” with a boilermaker, though he had to explain the concoction, again pointing to the menu.
Almost with the last bite of an excellent burger, Mordecaise’ “Mephisto” began chiming on his phone. “Hello, Boss,” was as far as Pasqual got, then sat back in stunned silence taking notes quickly, punctuated with periodic “Holy shit’s. When it was his turn, he asked “give me priorities, from hot to cold. I’ve only just come out from under the jet lag hood and won’t be renting wheels, until i know whether to hire a translator with a car or wing it on the local mopeds.” The call ended as abruptly as it began and though absorbed by long distance strategizing, when two out-of-uniform suits entered the bistro, Pasqual decided to have some fun, after ordering a cab on his int'l app he called the pretty waitress over. He displayed the google translation where he had written “Please bring me my bill and include the bill for the gentlemen in the corner and explain to them dinner was courtesy of a compatriot.” Leaving twice the amount of his bill on the table, Pasqual quietly rose and climbed into the cab which had just arrived at the curb
He presented the driver the address that Lung Ngong gave to Tieh that morning, then sat low enough in his seat to observe the two possible sleuths; if they had followed him from the homestay, or just lucked onto their quarry, happenstance of a small town, he couldn't tell. The address on the note directed the cab out an artery East through rice fields toward what he thought might be the beach; the taxi veered off just past a dog leg in the road; it lead into a small hamlet with older housing stock; the cab stopped in front of a weathered habitation deceptively tall with a traditional tile roof - a single lantern lit the covered porch. Getting out Pasqual paid the fare then turned to ask the driver to wait, but it was gone.
Pasqual’s knock on a solid finely-crafted door opened to a birdlike man seemingly too slight to the task - “Xinh Chao Anh Pasqual,” · closing the massive door with but a breath. I am Trâu Bet, Herr Liszt said that you would be calling with questions regarding an ancestor of yours, and information about a foreign resident of Hoi An who died in Hue months ago. I hope you are rested from your travels and find some comfort in the cool of the night. Our climate can be disorienting.” The gentle motions of the man seem to guide Pasqual into a large room laden with powerful “color field” paintings that defied description as landscape, skyscape, seascape or - unrelenting visual magnets - Ngài Trâu waited patiently while Pasqual feasted on the banquet of color.
When he finally sat down, a glass of fragrant tea appeared at the low table next to his chair while Ngài Trâu continued to study his guest; Pasqual had never worked as an artist model, but found the gaze of this artist intense. Slowly he remembered the purpose of his visit and was glad that language was not a barrier as he tried to explain the reasons he was searching for information about someone presumed dead for over 60 years. Ngài Trâu listened with the same intensity that he viewed Pasqual. When he finished, Ngài Trâu wrote in a sketch pad for a few minutes, then handed Pasqual a note with a name and address explaining, “Anh Pasqual the way you have described your uncle and his relationship to your family, it is easy to understand your reasons for wanting closure, I will look into the matter. As it happens, I knew the other decedent Reynaldo Schmuck, may even have been the last person in Hoi An to speak with him; I drove him to the bus station when he went on the retreat to Từ Hiếu Pagoda in Hue; this the name and address of a homestay in Hue which has close contacts within the Pagoda, if anyone can help you gain information about Reynaldo’s death it will be the people at the Purple Haze Homestay. I have called you a cab that is waiting outside. It was a pleasure to meet you, thank you for coming.”
There was nothing left to say, and Pasqual followed Ngài Trâu back to the entryway where, again the massive door seemed to open by fingertip and breath to the waiting taxi.
A little over 24 hours in Vietnam and Pasqual felt comfortable with what he’d accomplished but unprepared for what he found in the lit kitchen upon his return to the homestay - Tieh was beside herself in a fit of pique; her stolid wise-eyed mother stood on while the enchanting hostess from the night before railed tearful imprecations. Pasqual was at a loss, feeling very much the intruder within a cauldron of profound intimate emotion - in an act of solidarity; he stepped to the mother’s shoulder in the tiny kitchen; as she glanced up from her deep contemplation, Pasqual thumped his chest with a closed fist over his heart standing as close as he could for as long as possible; before retreating; he paused at the seat of Tieu’s beatific face and looked as deeply as he dared into the unmasked anguish of her expression; all he could conjure was a slow shallow bow, Thai Style, hopefully honoring the depth of her sacred emotion; he left quietly to a nearly sleepless night alone in a foreign land.
The Pretenders “Working on a Chain Gang” chimed at 6:30 that next morning, “Bonjour mon ami,” Leslei was full of bon vivant, “What?” without a hint of curiosity is the best the groggy traveler could muster, muttering into the aether as much to his co-operative “Thanks for reaching out, it’d be better to talk later - are you safe, are you okay?” . .. ···
+-+-+-
jts 09/02/2021
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
all rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment