Under Sapparn Put

by Mithran Somasundrum
Art by Linda Weatherly

My chief occupation that afternoon had been connecting paper clips while watching Doi fan herself with the current issue of Thai Rath. It was the height of the hot season, a week away from the Songkran Festival, and translation requests had dried up right along with the leaves on Chinatown's sparse trees. The other side of my business, the private detective side of things, was

equally stalled. Maybe it was the weather. Bangkok was too hot for lawbreaking.

The clanking metal fan in the corner of our small office swept out a breeze that was too warm to help. Doi sighed and wondered aloud when we'd be able to afford air-conditioning. At that point the door jerked open and Doi's sister, Lieng, stuck her head in. "Not busy," she said, more as a statement than a question, and sat herself down and began.

The problem was work; the problem was Oot. Lieng's husband ran a car repair shop on the Thonburi side of the river. Doi had told me once she suspected business wasn't too good, but hadn't known the details. Now Lieng was hammering in the small print. Did we have any idea what the mechanics were like? Did we know what they got up to? Take yesterday. They should have been raising the suspension on a pickup. Only she goes into the back and guess what? They've got that portable TV on, and they're placing bets on the boxing. Could we imagine? And where was Oot during all of this? Where did we think? Stuck in the office with his cronies from Sanam Luang, trading his bloody amulets.

She gave us both a dirty look at that point. Sanam Luang isn't far from Chinatown. It was as though she was holding us responsible.

The funny thing was, I did actually find the amulet business interesting, albeit in a completely nonreligious way. Sometimes on a late Sunday afternoon when I had nothing better to do, I'd wander around the market by Maharat Pier, which is another big amulet-trading area. I suppose what I liked was the whole subculture, the mats on the pavement with thumb-sized Buddha images laid out in rows and the old men on stools guarding them like grandchildren. I liked watching the intense jewelers' eyeglass examinations, and I liked the patience of the old men. It all seemed so timeless and peaceful.

Each temple produces its own style, and particular amulets are valued because they were blessed by particularly devout monks. As reputations rise, so do prices. In terms of a hobby, it's somewhere between stamp collecting and playing the stock market (if you can imagine the stocks also protecting you from evil). Only the problem in this case was Oot treating it as more than just a hobby. He'd apparently forgotten about his garage.

"You know a fortnight ago he was gone the whole week? I phone and he's at Sanam Luang. He thinks one day he's going to make some big deal," Lieng complained. "Always he's been like this. He won't work. He wants a shortcut."

It was another half hour before she'd left. Afterward, Doi sighed and said, "You're lucky your family are all in England, Vijay." By that time it was four thirty. It probably wouldn't kill us to close early for once, but then you never knew when a client might come in. So I waited for another hour and no one showed. Still, as I told Doi when we headed out, things were bound to pick up soon. Which was true enough because the next day we did get a customer.

The strange thing was, it was Oot.

When he lumbered in and placed his bearlike body on the chair in front of Doi, I was sure we were going to get the rebuttal. But instead he turned to me and said mournfully, "I think I'm being followed."

I sat up straight. "Why would you think that?"

"When I go to the shops, when I come home, there's always the same car. Silver Honda Civic."

"Oot," I said, "this city is full of Honda Civics, they're probably the most popular saloon car on the road. And silver's the most common color."

He shook his head. "I'm a mechanic, I notice cars. Crack on the right side headlight. Little dent on the left side wing mirror, line of blue paint. So I write down the license plate. It's the same car. I'm seeing for four days now."

"Why do you think someone would follow you?"

Oot winced. In the small wooden chair, with his sloped shoulders and his sad, jowly face, he looked more than ever like a big, exhausted bear. You felt he was going to trudge off somewhere and hibernate. Instead, he said, "I think there's two reasons. The first is Lieng. Maybe she hire someone like you." He peered at me. "Or she hire you. Are you following me?"

"No, of course not. And I don't own a Honda Civic. Or have access to one."

From behind him, Doi said in Thai, "Oot, Lieng's not going to have you followed. Why would she do that?"

"She's not happy," Oot said. "I can tell."

Doi and I exchanged glances. It didn't seem right somehow to tell him about his wife's visit. Her complaints were all things she needed to say to him directly, not via a third party.

I said, "Let's just assume it's not her."

His hand scrabbled under the neck of his yellow T-shirt and brought out a gold-chained amulet. "In that case, it's this." He leaned toward me so I could see the Buddha inside the glass disc more clearly. "From Chang Hai temple," he said. "The period of Luang Por Tuat." I heard a sharp intake of breath from Doi. To me the name meant nothing. She read my blank expression and said, "Vijay, it's a very good monk. He live long ago. The time of Rama Five. Was a very powerful person, could turn saltwater into fresh. Don't look like that, it's true."

"By doing what?"

"With his feet. Just stand in the sea and pray, and people can drink." She flapped her wrist at me. "You're not a Buddhist, you don't know about these things."

"So I take it this is valuable?" Oot nodded. "How much?"

"Maybe . . . five san" (100,000).

"Bloody hell. Oot, you're not a Mafia kingpin. You do not want to be walking around this city with half a million baht's worth of Buddha around your neck."

"I know, I know. But I don't have a safe place for keeping. Plus, someone's following me. The Luang Por Tuat Buddha can protect. Even from bullets."

"But I thought you said that's why they were following you?"

Oot nodded. "Probably."

God save us all from an amulet trader's logic. "Okay, so the point is, these mystery people in the Honda seem to know you've got a valuable- Actually, how did you get it?"

"I buy at Sapparn Put. The night market."

"They sell amulets there?" It was the first I'd heard of it. Sapparn Put is one of the bridges over the Chao Phrya. The market appears every weekday evening on the streets below and around the bridge, running from seven till midnight.

"I didn't expect. Was only looking for clothes and then I saw them. He have just a few on a mat and when I look I can't believe. Plus, he doesn't know a proper price. He selling to me for three san. I say to save it and I come back the next day. That was five days ago. Now for four days someone's following."

"And you're convinced it's because of this? There's no other reason you can think of?"

He gave me a lost look of imprisonment. "I'm a poor man. Why else they follow?"

The answer carried a question of its own. "So Oot, um, where exactly did you get three san?"

"I borrow from the bank. Put up the shop as security." He turned to Doi and said in Thai, "I don't want Lieng to know about this."

"Chai," said Doi, although from her steely tone you couldn't tell whether she meant, "yes I'm not going to tell her," or "yes, you don't want her to know."

Oot rotated his bulk back to me and said, "But it's okay, I find someone to buy. He's a rich man. Work about construction. He's going to pay five san in cash, but he need time to get the money." So not that rich, then. "Can make a big profit, but . . . there's this car now."

"Well, for a start, if you can give me the license plate number, I can find out who's driving it. Apart from that, who else knows you have this Buddha? I'm guessing you advertised somewhere?"

Oot shook his head. "I was careful, only speak to one person, a real dealer. He make sure it's Luang Por Tuat period, and then he announce to a few regular customers. But he don't say who's selling, don't say my name. Everything's very quiet. Very careful."

And yet this Honda had turned up. It made me think of a shark smelling blood in the water miles away.…

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