Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness (30 page)

“Ah,” was all she could think of to say as she stepped aside to let him in. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk and sat quickly, facing him. This, she thought, would be very interesting. What could be important enough that the director couldn’t have mentioned it when they were together an hour ago? And what on earth could be so important that he couldn’t simply have called her? This would be interesting indeed.

“Khun,” he began. “You know I’ve tried to be very patient in the matter of the man in the waiting room.”

Ladarat nodded. Yes, she supposed he had been patient. And she supposed that she had not made much progress. She waited.

“But you see, the inspectors will be here soon, and…”

“Yes?”

“This man—he has just…
defecated
in the garden outside the hospital reception area! I heard the security guards talking.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine what the inspectors will think if they see this? The health implications alone are enough to get a serious citation. And if we get a citation…”

He didn’t need to explain what would happen if their hospital received a citation. It would be a tremendous loss of face for everyone. Everyone in a hospital would feel that, from the director down to the janitors. Everyone would be embarrassed. And of course, the other hospitals in Chiang Mai would know… It would be very bad. Very, very bad.

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Yes, that would be very bad. But I believe there has been… a development.”

“A development?”

She couldn’t say more. It was still only a hypothesis. But Ladarat was fairly certain that she was correct. It was a strong hunch. Or maybe instinct. Regardless, she was almost certain that she would be able to resolve the case of the strange wandering man today.

The director nodded and stood, offering her a deep
wai
as he did. “I know you can resolve this problem, Khun. I have no doubt. Thank you.” And he
wai’d
again as he turned to leave.

That, Ladarat thought, was mysterious. The way that he seemed to trust her. Strange, indeed.

Of course, he was desperate. And when we’re desperate, we trust anyone who offers an answer.

As Professor Dalrymple said, even the most incompetent nurse looks like a hero to a patient who is truly in need.

And yet… he really seemed to think that she could solve this problem for him. He trusted her. And she had inspired confidence. Imagine that.

But could she solve this problem? Yes, she could. At least, she hoped so.

THE ELEPHANT’S MIND IS THE MAHOUT’S MIND

L
adarat had already pushed the “up” button for the elevator when she had a crucial second thought. She turned and walked quickly back to her office, taking off her white coat and hanging it on the hook on the back of the door.

There. She should have thought of that earlier. That would have been a significant mistake.

She wondered what other mistakes she might be making, but there was no time for second-guessing now. She would go up to the ICU and let intuition be her guide. Intuition, and luck. And fortunately, luck seemed to be on her side.

The waiting room was almost full. It was Saturday, after all, and many friends and family from the Northeast and all over Isaan had come for the weekend. A five-hour bus ride had brought them to Chiang Mai.

Ladarat scanned the faces scattered across the room, noticing that they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her. Of course, without the white coat, she was just another family member looking for someone she knew. It occurred to her in that moment that perhaps she should wander the hospital this way more often. Incognito, as they say. She would learn a great deal about the way the hospital ran.

Well. As soon as this inspection was over, that was exactly what she was going to do. Who knew what sorts of ethical problems were lurking, unseen and unnoticed? She would wander about, and she would eavesdrop. She would be… a detective. She almost smiled.

But then she remembered why she was here. She didn’t see the man, but she knew that she wouldn’t from where she was standing. If he was here, he would be seated on the floor, right over… there. And there he was.

She took a step back and pulled her mobile phone from her purse. Just one quick call.

A moment later, her call completed, Ladarat made her way awkwardly across the room, stepping over children’s toys and knapsacks and food baskets and the occasional wayward child. Smiling and nodding so as not to give offense, she was blocked in her progress down a narrow passage between two rows of seats by two small children—not much more than infants, playing with a bright blue inflatable ball that reached to their shoulders. She would have been content to stop and watch, but their mothers leaned in and whisked them up onto laps, smiling as they did.

Finally, she was through. She walked purposefully to the section of the wall where the man had planted himself. As always, he’d positioned himself to gain a heartening view of the mountain outside the window.

He looked up and greeted her with a deep
wai
, which she returned. Odd, he didn’t seem particularly surprised to see her. Nor did he seem to remember his previous abrupt disappearance. It was almost as if he took her irregular materializations for granted as manifestations of the natural world, just as he assumed his were to her. These meetings were like a sunset or… more prosaically, a tree falling. There was no point in being surprised, his demeanor seemed to suggest. These things just happened.

“Khun…” She wasn’t sure how to begin this conversation. She wasn’t sure at all. But she hoped that the formal address might lend some gravity to a situation, which was rather peculiar. Here she was, leaning over this man, who was eyeing her with an open honesty tinged with wariness.

“I thought we might perhaps talk… outside?”

The man nodded hesitantly. Of course, that was it. This man from the country would be more comfortable outside. And, of course, that would be the perfect place to have a conversation.

A small part of her brain—the rational, logical part—noted that this man should ask her what she wanted to talk about. This man should naturally resist ambiguous invitations of this sort. But the man didn’t even ask her what she wanted to talk about. The invitation to go outside was enough.

She led and he followed, as she’d hoped. So with barely a glance behind her, she turned left and led him through the door and over to the stairs she had recently discovered.

They trooped down the steps without speaking. And as he had in the hallway, the man let her lead. Down the stairs they went, the man’s bare feet making a soft slapping sound on the linoleum tile. Slap. Slap. Slap.

As they reached the first floor, the slapping sounds behind her slowed, and she realized the man was hanging back. But Ladarat pretended not to notice, and she forged ahead through the door to the ground-floor hallway that connected the main hospital building with the new wing that housed the ICU. It was a short walk down the hall to the right, and then out the door to the little garden nestled between the old and the new buildings.

As she expected, the garden was not crowded. It was still early, so most people at the hospital were either visiting or working. There was a small family at a table near the fountain, having a breakfast picnic of sticky rice and chili paste and roasted fish. And several hospital employees were sitting alone, talking on their mobile phones.

There was also a couple—an intern and a nurse—sharing a quiet moment in the corner. She thought for a moment of how she used to meet Somboon, in a garden much like this one at Aek Udon Hospital in Isaan. But now was not the time to think of such things.

Just behind them in the doorway were two monks, who passed them and went to sit by the fountain. They were engaged in an animated conversation, and seemed not to notice the people around them. A matter of great theological import, no doubt. One was old and the other was just a novice. Both wore the saffron robes of the order and had shaved heads that exposed them to the merciless sun. They popped open orange umbrellas to shade themselves and continued their conversation quietly.

She didn’t have an umbrella, so she led the man to a ledge on the far end of the garden, thinking that he’d be more comfortable there than sitting on a chair. She found a corner in the shade of the hospital behind them, and she sat facing the building, so the man would face the mountains over her left shoulder. She thought that would give him comfort. He followed suit, but more slowly. He seemed warier now.

But he also seemed more relaxed, if that was possible. Before it was as though he was on edge in an irrational way. But now… it seemed as though he was more himself. Wary, yet comfortable.

He watched her with the same patient regard that he might give a wild animal who was not unfriendly but was nevertheless unpredictable.

She would start gently.

“It is sad about the American, is it not?”

The man looked at her quietly, with a resigned expression. He nodded slowly but said nothing.

“This person you’re visiting… it is the American, is it not?”

Again, the man looked at her quietly and nodded. Still he didn’t speak, but she had a feeling it wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say. It was more that he was waiting. He knew that she had more to say, and so he would bide his time. That degree of patience, she thought, was unusual. And it convinced her that she was right. If she’d had any uncertainty when she invited him out to the garden, that uncertainty was gone now. She could be more direct.

“You know, I suppose, that the American is getting better.”

A puzzled look.

“The man, I mean. Of course the woman is getting better. But you knew that, because you’ve been watching her. Haven’t you?”

A slight nod.

“But now that man is starting to wake up. It’s thought he may make a good recovery.”

There. She’d said enough. Now it was his turn. But he surprised her by standing formally and giving her a high
wai
—his fingers at the level of his wrinkled forehead, and bent so low that he was almost doubled over.

“No, no, Khun, you mustn’t thank me. I… I did nothing. It’s his doctors and nurses. I only bring news that I thought you would want to know, given your… concern with the case.”

“That is very good, Khun,” the man said finally. “I am relieved.” A pause as he looked up at the mountains over her left shoulder. “I am so relieved.”

Then the man became suddenly serious and his smile disappeared in an instant. “This is a great relief, you see. Because of course it was my fault, Khun.”

That surprised her more than it should have perhaps. “But… it was an accident involving an elephant, was it not? Why would that be your responsibility?”

As the silence between them stretched out, she decided to guess.

“The elephant is yours, is it not, Khun?”

The man nodded miserably.

“But how are you responsible, Khun? Is it not the elephant’s doing that caused these injuries?”

“Of course I am responsible, Khun.” The man seemed genuinely surprised. “If not me, then who?”

“Surely accidents happen? And… elephants have minds of their own?”

“Ah, but the elephant’s mind is the mahout’s mind. They are one, do you understand? For an elephant to commit such a crime, it is the same as if the mahout commits the crime. Do you see?”

She didn’t. The morality of elephants was something far beyond any ethics textbook she had ever read. Although Ladarat was intensely curious about what thoughts the good Professor Dalrymple would have on the issue of elephant morality, her otherwise excellent textbook was alas silent on this. Perhaps someday she would write to the professor to ask her to consider the morality of elephants. But now, she needed to come to an arrangement that would separate the man from the ICU waiting room.

“I’m not sure I understand, Khun. Perhaps in time you will be able to explain it to me. For now, though, I need to ask you to help me.”

“Of course, Khun. But what can I do?”

What indeed?

“Well, the American woman is in a delicate state. When she saw you in the hallway several days ago, she became… distressed. Do you understand?”

The man nodded. “Of course I understand. It is natural. But I do not mean to cause her distress. I only meant to… watch. To find out how she is progressing. That is why I’m here.”

There was a question in the back of Ladarat’s mind. Something that she was missing. But what? No time to figure it out, though. Not now.

“No, you do not mean to cause distress. I understand. But your presence here seems to do that. It is an accident, but true nonetheless.”

Now the man was nodding, but uncertainly. “So what should I do?”

“First,” Ladarat said, sounding more authoritative than she felt, “you should avoid the waiting room upstairs.” She paused. “You should not be there. The American woman will be going in and out to see her husband even more often now, and she will see you. And she will be upset.”

The man nodded. “I understand. But… how will I know how the American is doing? How will I know if he makes a recovery?”