Tuesday the 22nd of November
In the midst’s of a mid morning knap my phone rang “Hey Will. Bit of a weird one; could you go to the market and get me a beetroot? I need it for an experiment and the school can’t get hold of one”. It was Carolyn – was she spying on my dreams? I pulled myself out of bed and found my clothes. I needed help on this task so by chance I phoned an old friend.
“Roger? Something’s come up… I need your help”
“No problem old sheaf, what’s the two’s and four’s, you know I’ve been finding it rather silly…”
Roger was literally an ‘old’ friend – 87 years. He was eccentric and suffered with all kinds of age related illnesses but made for a loyal and experienced ally – someone I could trust. He was typical old English, proud of his heritage and couldn’t help but speak to a willing ear. He came to Thailand 40 years ago to marry a Thai woman half his age, he did, but she died in suspicious circumstances; he vowed never to love again. I met him a month after I came here in a local bar. We bonded.
“… So? In a pickle? A tight spot? What’s arousing the senses Willy? Dragon at Kingerlerth Hill?... Swamp tiger attacked by a small gull?... Get it, got it?”
“Roger, listen, I need a beetroot”
“Well why didn’t you say so. A red beet, table beet, garden beet, the beet. Damn, high in sodium, potassium, vitamin C and betaine - which as we know helps with the old ticker – who isn’t ready and willing for the lustful lingers of a beetroot? Get it, got it?”
“Okay, any knowledge on where to find one?”
“Damn ramble wit and tooth, where to find a beet? You know, my old Maam had an acre of beetroot farmed 10 miles west of Stonehenge – illegally of course – back in the 30’s. I came quite the fanatic; pickled, chopped, diced, sliced or raw I was rarely seen without one. Reminds me of the time I was …”
“Roger!” I interrupted “Where do I find one?”
“I tell you what, come over here to my humble shack, I’ll entertain your plight. I bid you a fair route. Get it, got it?”
He hung up. I wasn’t aware of Roger’s fascination but it appears fate has dealt another hand, in fact a beetroot enthusiast could well prove useful so I darted over to Rogers and knocked the door. ‘Hello, Roger? It’s Will’. There was no answer. I opened and cautiously tiptoed in. I was stopped
“William! Knock will you”
“I did! You didn’t answer”
“Enough of that. Manners go a long way young man”. There was no arguing with him, he was never wrong. “Damn, even my children knock!”
“I didn’t know you had children Roger”
“I do, yes, 10 in fact.” He didn’t.
“Anyway, for what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Beetroot?”
“Ah yes, beetroot. You know my father carried a dried beet ‘round his neck for the last 13 years of his life. Gosh, damn… I would always ask ‘ father, why do you wear that?’ he would pull it from his sweater and recite a very detailed story… It saved his life you know, but ultimately it was the death of him. Get it, got it?”
It was clear Roger was losing it. He’d always been fond of telling tales but lately he was delirious and I was beginning to suspect his claims as nonsense. He called me into his living room and we both made ourselves comfortable. I was offered and accepted a drink. His house was typical Thai. Clean, marbled and decorated with a mixture of odd traditional elephant junk and sheik boldness. We talked, or I was talked too for a while as he discussed the markets near by and the possibility of Beetroots being there. It was concluded that the market behind Tesco Lotus on highway 36 was my best bet. I started the process of excusing myself when I noticed Roger had stopped talking mid sentence, it was unlike him. I admit I had tuned out a while ago but silence was a different noise altogether. I approached him. He had no pulse. Roger was dead.
What the fuck! Why can’t I just have a normal day? Why can’t a beetroot hunt be a simple search for a beetroot? Why has my friend died on me? WHY? A flurry of thoughts crept through my mind, what should I do?
I’d never seen a dead body before but it was kind of reassuring, peaceful even. I was curious to how he had died. It’s weird for a man to talk himself to death isn’t it? No matter of the oddity I was not a medic and whilst I am qualified to make a determined guess the cause was not clear, but I examined the body in case of any obvious signs. It was then that I found the dried beetroot hung from a chain around his neck.
Had Roger not made reference to his fathers adornment I may have left then and phoned the police, but my detective senses were going crazy. Roger told me about his fathers dried beet for a reason, he probably told me the reason but I stopped listening. I pulled the beetroot from him and tucked it into my pocket. As I did this there was a knock at the door. I was now in a silly situation, how am I to react? For whatever reason I decided to come clean, answer the door and explain to whoever what had happened. I’m honest.
It was a woman, Thai. Her age was hard to tell as I had to study her movements but I suspected her to be over 37. To my surprise she spoke perfect English. “Oh, Hello, Is Roger there?” It was then the single worst circumstance I have ever found myself in. “I’m really sorry. Um… Roger’s dead…” I looked down. I didn’t know who this woman was or what her relationship was to him but her reaction was one that I didn’t expect no matter her status. “Dead? Already?” She pushed passed and looked for the body.
For whatever reason I became protective of Roger. “Hey, wow, what’s going on? Who are you?” The lady didn’t listen, she was determined. I followed her into the room where he lay. I was sombre, she was on a mission. She bent over him and instinctively checked for vital signs then started to unbutton his shirt. She began to mumble “where the fuck is it?”. I interrupted “what are you looking for?”
“Never mind.” She turned and hurried to his bedroom, she knew her way around. I figured it best not to get in her way, I was still a bit shocked by it all. After a few minutes she came back into the living room, defeated. “I don’t understand” she sobbed. “I’m sorry but who are you?” I said sternly. “Oh, sorry… I’m Roger’s daughter… Felicia.” She slumped and held her head in her hands. Was she upset about her father’s death or the fact she couldn’t find what she was looking for? I didn’t know.
“Daughter! I didn’t think Roger had any children.” I remembered.
“I’m one of 10 but the only one alive.” She replied. This shocked me. Roger had always insisted he had no children yet today he made claim to 10 and this woman - seemingly his daughter – was confirming this. My mind was going crazy, I needed to take a step back and let the events sink in. I excused myself and made haste for the balcony. There I was afforded a few minutes to think. Until -
“So…are you Will?” This woman knew my name.
“Yeah, how did you know that?”
“My father often talked about you. Claimed you as honest - a good man. He said I’d meet you. I hoped not like this.” She was soft-spoken, reassuring, and compassionate, everything I hate in a woman who has just found out her dad is dead.
“I’m sorry, I’m still a bit shocked by all of this. Roger dying! You turning up! How can you be so calm? He’s just died!”
“Listen, Will, I’m going to be honest with you. My father said I could trust you and that you should be treated as a member of the family…”
“ok?” Hesitantly.
“Now, it may shock you but my father was due to die today. I knew this and so did he. I was told to turn up here at the time I did and I was told, by him, to retrieve his Gris”
“His what?”
“His Gris. Did he not mention it to you?”
“No”
“Well, his Gris is most important. It has been in his family for generations, it, it, it controls things…” Her eyes filled with mystical wonderment. She was fucking nuts.
“Listen, I don’t think I should be here, with all due respect and condolence, can I just go home?” Deep down I wanted to see how this complication unravelled but this woman freaked me out, I assumed myself better out of there.
“Yes, you can leave, of course… however, it is no coincidence you’re here. My father wanted you to be a part of this.” I agreed as much. Roger definitely figured me in this, whatever this was. I was torn, I’d have to be shrewd with a clear mind to stand a chance of solving anything and I was neither at that moment. I pondered and eventually agreed that I go home and have a shower before we rendezvous’.
I was glad to get home, it was still early in the day but so much had occurred. I took the longest shower I could and tried to free my mind as much as possible. I found some fresh clothes, left Roger’s dried beet at home and made my way to meet with Felicia (weird name).
We met at a small café in the village and she was much the same, calm and in control. My head was more with it so I began to ask some questions. “So what is a Gris?”
“A Gris is an adornment worn around the neck of the Bokor… A Bokor is a sorcerer in control of the Ro-Langs and the Ro-Langs are controlled using the Gris…” It took her twelve times to explain so I was at the point of understanding. It was Voodoo, a mixture of African, Haitian and Tibetan Voodoo. How the shit had I stumbled across this? The Gris is a dried fruit or vegetable hung around the neck harnessing the power to control the Ro-Langs, which literally translated means ‘a risen corpse’, and Roger was the Bokor in control!
I have a logical brain, it thinks using knowledge and experience and in my experience Felicia was fucking insane, no matter how convincing her tone. However my duty was to get to the bottom of this pickle and I was in a potential position of trust. Lets play along.
“Wow, so Roger’s Gris, did you find it? I bet it’s well powerful!” Maybe a bit too sarcastic? She didn’t notice.
“I can’t find it! He said he’s be wearing it! HE SAID HE’D BE WEARING IT!”
“Ok, calm down, it’s alright, It’ll be around.”
“This isn’t a game Will” her tone loosening for the first time “There are 10 Ro-Langs at my house and no Gris! Do you understand what that means?”
“Your house is gonna be wrecked?”
“THIS ISN’T A JOKE!”
“Ok, sorry… What does it mean?”
“They will cease to exist! They feed from the Bokor but there is no Bokor without a Gris... I will lose my family.” Felicia began to cry, maybe it was all getting to her. I really didn’t know what to make of this. It was clear she believed what she was saying and I was starting to. “Why not make a new Gris?” I offered. “But this Gris has been in the family for years” she countered “is it impossible to make a new Gris?”
“No… The Ro-Langs may react differently but as long as the correct powders are added I see no reason why not… YES! Will you’re a genius, my father was right, you’re one of us!” We rushed to her car and headed for her home. She filled me in on the process of making and blessing a new Gris, ‘it would take two days to complete’ just enough time before the Ro-Langs suffered. I didn’t know what to expect approaching her home. What were the Ro-Langs? Were they literally corpses? I was soon to find out.
We entered and I was greeted with a room full of what can only be described as zombies. ZOMBIES. Ten of them, all stood mindlessly paying attention to nothing. They saw me, uniformly turned and wiggled their tongues! “lelelellalalllalwala”. They weren’t covered in blood and missing limbs as we’re taught to expect, in fact they were clean, but the body movement and noise was exactly similar.
“So this is the family… my brothers and sisters, and this… is mother.” Felicia introduced. The things I’ve seen in my life did not prepare me for this. A room full of happy zombies. My brain readied my body to defend itself but Felicia assured me they wouldn’t be dangerous unless the Gris was not completed. Still it was a sight that will haunt me for the rest of days, no matter how ‘happy’ they were.
I was taken to a room with no the Ro-Langs and breathed a sigh of relief. “Are they your siblings? Rogers children and wife?” I had to ask. “Yes. It’s a process that’s has been passed down through the generations in our family. The father would be the Bokor and the eldest child would wait in heir. All other children would be made into Ro-Langs and later the spouse…”
“Why?” I was astonished.
“A healthy Ro-Langs can live twice as long as us. Five of my siblings in there are actually my uncle’s and aunts, see how long they’ve survived? I sometimes wish I wasn’t the first born.”
“Why not just let them live a normal life?”
“It’s tradition Will. Father said you understood.” I was slipping out of my trust worthy character, I needed to concentrate.
“I do understand, it’s tradition, of course.”
“My father felt his time had ended as Bokor so he started the ending process”
“The ending process?”
“Yes, as Bokor you have no tolerance of salt, so he simply over ate salt for a month…”
“I see…”
“This is now my opportunity to be Bokor and…”
“What?”
“I need children to continue the tradition… My father, he… he… “
“WHAT?”
“He saw you as the ideal man to continue the tradition with”
This revelation was nothing compared to what my eyes had seen today, it barely registered, I simply played along whilst I finalised my head plan. “Wow, ME?” Felicia’s eyes were filled with that same silly glare she shone earlier. I mean don’t get me wrong she was pretty and I admired her poise and purpose but she also conspires to trap and zombie family members because of ‘tradition’. I’m no psychologist but I think she has dependency issues. And just how the fuck does one zombie someone? I asked.
“How the fuck does one Zombie someone?”
“Zombie’s? they are not zombies! They are Ro-Langs.”
“Sorry, how do I Ro-Lang someone?”
She spouted some mystical bull nosh about summoning the gods of so and so but I could see through it like a bad trick. Whilst giving her demonstration she alluded to two powders. The first a powder included tetrodotoxin (a powerful and sometimes fatal neurotoxin from a puffer fish), the second powder consists of dissociative drugs such as datura. The powders combined would induce a death like state meaning the Ro-Langs would not be able to bend and only communicate by wagging their tongues leaving them entirely subjected to the Bokor and his Gris. Felicia believed the powers from the Gris and worship were needed but it was clear the ‘powers’ stemmed from the powders, logic told me so.
I was struggling with Roger’s involvement in this. Probability suggested he was what Felicia said but I think he wanted out, that’s why he invited me round and that’s why he told me about his father and the Gris. He didn’t want me to carry on the tradition with his daughter, he wanted me to end it. In my head, this needed stopping. Now.
Felicia was still talking about the wonders of her duty when I punched her square in the face, not as hard as I’d hoped, the fact she was a woman meant my natural follow through was restrained. She held her nose, I could see she was in shock, ‘what’s going on?’. I didn’t hesitate, I punched her again, this time in the mouth, her two front teeth fell to the floor shortly before she did… I straddled her and started punching, left and right, left and right as hard as I could until she struggled no more. She was still alive but unconscious. I got up and found the powder that held the neurotoxin from the puffer fish, I emptied it onto her wounds, she was to be dead in minutes.
I went for home and rang the police from a pay phone to leave an anonymous tip as to the whereabouts of 10 very sick people, I don’t know how they faired. I’m not sure if I care.
I arrived at my house just before 5pm. Carolyn greeted me with her lovely natural smile and Astrid peeled herself away from the telly to run at me screaming ”DADDY”. All was very normal, the evening progressed, Astrid went to bed and we settled down.
“Oh did you get me a beetroot love, I need it for tomorrow first thing?” I winced, ‘shit’. I’d forgot. I told her I couldn’t find one.
“For fucks sake Will. What do you actually do? I asked for one simple thing, a favour, why can’t you do that? You are useless!” I was a bit taken aback. She must be approaching blob time. It was ok, I remembered I still had Roger’s Gris.
“Listen, I couldn’t find one anywhere but I found this” I produced Roger’s beetroot, still with chain attached, it held much more significance now and upon a study I found it beautiful, almost mesmerising. Carolyn snatched it from me. Looked at it and said…
“What the fuck am I meant to do with that?”
Another fine day in Thailand and case of the Beetroot Gris – Solved.
