Music of the Ghosts



Lah. There is a cheerful ring to the child’s name, and as though she were a musical note, the little one hums continuously. In the driver’s seat, Mr. Chum taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and beside him, Narunn shakes his head gently from side to side as he whistles along. They’ve been driving for some time now, withstanding breath-halting lurches and bumps, the calamitous swerves of vehicles overburdened with passengers and belongings, the continuous edging of oxcarts and tractors onto the already crowded narrow lanes. Lah seems unperturbed by it all, perfectly content in the backseat as she snuggles into Teera’s shoulder, her tiny arm around Teera’s waist. When she catches a glimpse or a sound of something interesting, the girl will poke her head up and take in the full scene—a chhayam drum carnival with giant dancing puppets at the entrance to a temple, a stream of schoolgirls in blue-and-white uniforms pedaling their bicycles along the dikes of dry paddy fields, a wedding party buzzing with bamboo flutes and coconut tros. When it’s just flat country scenery, the child dips down again, curling her body like a snail into its shell, attaching herself to comfort and safety, the shelter of another’s body. The apprehension Teera felt back at the hotel has long vanished, and in its place something stronger, more certain, is taking root, though she does not yet know what it is.

Earlier this morning at the temple, when they were introduced, the first words to emerge from the little one’s lips were: “I’m four today!” The girl counted aloud to herself and then, with one hand pinning down the thumb of the other, uncurled the correct number of chubby fingers for them all to see. Teera had expected someone willowy and broken, but the face gazing up at hers beamed with a curiosity that eclipsed loss. “Are you the auntie from America?” Lah scrutinized, her dark round eyes rimmed with lashes as jet-black and silken as the hair framing her tiny-moon face. The Venerable Kong Oul standing nearby gave a hopeful smile, and Teera, lowering herself to the child’s level, said, “Yes . . . and I’ve come to take you for your birthday outing. Would you like to see some gibbons and sun bears?” Lah nodded vigorously, and then broke into a giggle when Narunn stepped aside and started making muted hoots and scratching himself like an ape. “Are you from America too, uncle?” Lah asked, hands cupping her mouth to suppress her amusement.

Narunn grumbled with indignation, “Oh no, somewhere much more glamorous!”

“Where?”

“The jungle, of course!”

Lah narrowed her eyes for a moment before appearing to reach the same conclusion. Narunn and Mr. Chum each took her by the arm and swung her toward the car. The Venerable Kong Oul and Teera followed a few steps behind. “I told her you were an auntie from America,” the abbot said. “It’s kind of you to play along. I wanted to give her something exciting to look forward to, a day with someone who has no connection whatsoever to her ordeal.”

“She seems all right,” Teera told him. “Surprisingly joyful.”

“A child this young is resilient, and she is remarkably so. She bounces around like a bubble, and the little novices trail her everywhere, as you can see.” The abbot nodded to the clusters of monks gathering here and there to watch, curious, vigilant. “They feel protective of her but maintain an appropriate distance, in accordance with the monastic rule. I’m the only transgressor here.” He chuckled. “I’ve made a small place for her in my room. It’s far from ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.”

“Have you told her what happened?”

The old monk nodded. “Yes, simply that her mother has passed, not the details of how and why. And, as with most children her age, she takes it to mean her mother is ‘gone,’ at least physically. How she makes sense of this is hard to know . . . Every now and then she’ll ask when her mother is coming back, and I tell her more or less that her mother is on a long journey to find a better life, and that for the time being she is to remain at the temple with us. It’s clear she senses something is wrong but does not ask to know more. Such is the wisdom of innocence—it does not seek the answer it cannot accept.”

They walked in silence for a while, and, as they neared the car, the abbot said, “Also, I’d asked you to come along because I felt the Old Musician would want to see you. He knew you were coming today but must have forgotten, because he’s gone into the city with the monks on their alms rounds. Perhaps you’ll see him later today when you return from Phnom Tamao.” The monk stood still for a moment, hands clasped behind his back in a contemplative bow. “He’s the only one who seems shattered by the little one’s presence. He tries to stay out of her path as much as possible, though it was he who insisted we bring her here.”

Teera gave him a surprised look. “Shattered?”

The abbot shook his head. “I don’t know . . . Perhaps ‘shattered’ is the wrong word. He’s deeply affected by her loss. Anyway, I thought seeing you again might be a good thing.”

Though they’d only met recently, Teera felt she knew the Venerable Kong Oul in some deep way, having read his extended correspondence with her aunt. When misfortune befalls us, he’d written in one of the last letters to Amara, whether a collective one like war, or a personal one like illness, it is tempting to see religion as the answer. In all my years as a monk, I’ve come to believe that religion is only another way of asking the question, why? Why is there suffering? Why are we here? In Teera’s own interaction with him, the abbot had always been able to fathom the unspoken, and she thought this the mark of his spirituality—the ability to reach deep into another’s soul without seeming to trespass. She could see why Amara had sought his counsel from afar over the years. Teera felt at ease with him, in a way she’d never been able to feel in the presence of other monks. “I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to plan another visit,” she said after a moment, “but the time never seems right.”

“I understand.” The abbot held her gaze. “Until then, off you go now, nhome atmah. Be mindful on the road.”

*

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