chance to see viewers’ e-mails and text messages? I guessed immediately that the forty million dollars to invade China was spent not on the prayer flags themselves, but mostly on bribing a whole raft of Chinese officials to look the other way when the flags were hoisted for the benefit of the world’s cameras. Not that Tietsin will be too worried about the publicity. What interests him is the exercise of subtle power, the silent invasion of China by Tibetan thought, the promise to its misguided people of a better heaven than that offered by Marx, Mao, or Friedman: the slow but certain remodeling of the World Mind, starting with China, into something more civilized. To Tietsin’s way of thinking, he can’t fail. It’s only a question of time—and he’s Tibetan. You did send a message of support, even though there’s no oil in Tibet, didn’t you? I know how committed you are to freedom and democracy.
Farang, it’s time to wind this up. I know you are itching to find out more about my spiritual development. I’m still with the blade wheel—I fear it will be my companion for many incarnations—but, as I’m sure you guessed, Chanya made a family decision that I would give up the position of consigliere. We have discovered the hard way that names matter. As a free spirit, buzzing around Vikorn’s ear urging restraint, I feel more myself; call me his consigliere, give me a quarter-million baht a month—and I feel enslaved. In my personal form of Buddhism, morality is organic and impossible to codify. You cannot grasp the way with your hand, nor even your mind; you have to let it lead you.
Oh, by the way, Rosie McCoy is still inside, but has adapted with genius: she has bribed the head screw to give her a private cell with computer and Internet connection. Her webpage charges three dollars a pop to download pix of her naked body in various erotic poses. Mary Smith is now in the same holding prison and has somehow managed to find favor with the big Nigerians, who protect her. Although the Frank Charles case remains officially a suicide, Sukum did get his promotion and became impossible to live with for a week, but he has not yet exchanged his Toyota for a Lexus; there is hope for his next incarnation.
Do not judge me too harshly, farang. (You know how you are.) In the wasteland where narrative rots, Good Thief may be the highest aspiration. Let he who is without karma cast the first stone.
I am yours in dharma, Sonchai Jitpleecheep.
Epilogue
Farang, I have a question for you: do we have a happy ending? I myself cannot decide, but it might help your deliberation if I share with you yet another anonymous package which arrived a couple of days ago. It is a single yellow Tibetan prayer flag, which has been unstitched to reveal the tiny paper prayer within. The prayer is in Tibetan and Chinese script; fortunately, the anonymous sender has provided a translation in English and Thai. I am not an expert, but I would guess the incantation to be unusual:
Hey, China, stop being stupid!
Don’t go down this road anymore!
Look at the West. It may be confused, but it has been down this road of yours and has much to teach: Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Franco, Nixon, Botha. And there’s a guy called Mao you really need to study more deeply. Know who they all were, these guys? They were the direct cultural products of Clive, Palmerston, Kitchener, Curzon, Younghusband: the kind of guys Marx hated most in all the world. Remember Marx?
Monocultures with iron fists don’t last very long these days. Better get yourself some variety if you want to survive.
Things are looking good for you at the moment, aren’t they? Did anyone explain the Third Reich was supposed to last a thousand years?
Listen, China, this is a new age we have here. Freedom isn’t a theory anymore, it is an instinct people are born with. So is the longing for the transcendent. Nothing you can do about it: it’s even stronger than money!
Here’s something from your own culture:
A cup of wine under the flowering trees;
I drink alone, for no friend is near.
Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon …
Li Po is the greatest poet in world literature. He was also a Buddhist, by the way. So were the Emperor Wu of Han, Yao Xing, Cao Xueqin, Liu Ying, Li Shizhen, Commissioner Lin, and the Emperor Ming.
You better link up again with those guys if you want your good karma to continue. The way you treat my people is filling the Illustrious Ancestors with shame.
Let my people go, China. The alternative is too ugly to contemplate.
Om mani padme hum
SOURCES
Bayonets to Lhasa, Peter Fleming
Circling the Sacred Mountain: A Spiritual Adventure Through the Himalayas, Robert Thurman and Tad Wise
Esoteric Teachings of the Tibetan Tantra, translated by Chang Chen Chi
Lords of the Rim, Sterling Seagrave
The Madman’s Middle Way, Donald Lopez
Opium, Empire, and the Global Political Economy: A Study of the Asian Opium Trade, Carl A. Trocki
Pax Britannica: Climax of an Empire, Jan Morris
The Ritual and Mythology of the Chinese Triads: Creating an Identity, Berend J. Ter Harr
The Shadow Circus: The CIA in Tibet, White Crane Films
Shamanism and Tantra in the Himalayas, Claudia Mulles-Ebeling, Christian Ratsch, and Surendra Bahadur Shahi
Very Thai, Philip Cornwel-Smith
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John Burdett is the author of A Personal History of Thirst, The Last Six Million Seconds, Bangkok 8, Bangkok Tattoo, and Bangkok Haunts.
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Copyright © 2010 by John Burdett
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Burdett, John.
The godfather of Kathmandu / by John Burdett.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“This is a Borzoi Book”—T.p. verso
eISBN: 978-0-307-27294-2
1. Sonchai Jitpleecheep (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Police—Thailand—Bangkok—Fiction. 3. Bangkok (Thailand)—Fiction. 4. Corruption—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6052.U617G63 2010
823′.914—dc 2009038459
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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