Figurehead (14 page)
‘When the time comes, Son Sann will do what his backers tell him to do. We do not need him here now.’
A chunk of croissant lodged in Sihanouk’s throat. He commenced a coughing fit.
‘I know the Heimlich manoeuvre,’ Kiry offered.
Sihanouk shook his head, swigged coffee – ‘Ugh, cold already’ – and miraculously recovered. ‘You know why I invited you here.’
‘With the greatest respect, Your Majesty, I cannot imagine why anyone would call a meeting that they do not want to attend. We’re alone. You can speak freely.’
‘Alone? Of course we’re not alone. Deng Xiaoping is in this room. The Thai military is in this room. Alexander Haig is here, Ronald Reagan is here. Alone?
Alone?
Pol Pot is in this room. And Nuon Chea and Ieng Sary and—’
‘Goodness. Should we call for more coffee?’
‘I will tell you my concerns.’
‘I read them in the newspaper.’
‘I will tell you Sihanouk’s concerns.’
‘Tell me, Your Majesty. Tell me all of them.’
‘I want my flag back.’
‘Your flag?’
‘Sihanouk’s flag. Cambodia’s true flag.’
‘Democratic Kampuchea’s flag is a fine flag. Many patriotic men and women have fought and died for that flag.’
‘Twenty-seven members of my extended family—’
‘You want twenty-seven of them in the leadership? With respect, Your Majesty, that is impossible.’
‘Sihanouk will speak: twenty-seven members of my extended family went missing under your Democratic Kampuchea flag.’
‘People go their own way sometimes, Your Majesty.’
‘Some are dead. I know this. But some I do not know their fate. Here is a list. I want to know what happened to every one of them.’
‘Let’s clear this up now: do you have a Paris phonebook on the premises?’
‘I want to know who is alive and who is dead, how they died, why they died. I want their remains. Not just any bundle of bones. I will test them. My doctors can do that sort of thing—’
‘I don’t doubt it, Your Majesty.’
‘If any of them are still in your refugee camps, then—’
‘You mean the independent settlements administered by various neutral international aid agencies?’
‘If any of them are in your camps you will locate them and release them to me.’
Kiry scanned the list. ‘Paris. Paris. Don’t know. San Francisco. Don’t know. Oh, those two have defected to the Vietnamese imperialists.’
‘Impossible.’
‘He works for me. So does she. He lives in Melbourne, Australia. I believe he owns a McDonald’s franchise. Ah: my sincere commiserations, Your Majesty, but your niece, Thyda, died a heroic death defending Democratic Kampuchea.’
Sihanouk’s butterfly eyelashes fluttered.
‘Sihanouk has other concerns: I will not lead a coalition called Democratic Kampuchea.’
‘You do not wish to lead the coalition? What lesser role would you prefer? Who are you prepared to serve under? How will we tiptoe behind you if you are not in front?’
‘I will lead. No one else. But I will not agree to the name being Democratic Kampuchea. And I must be free to speak my mind, to say whatever I want whenever I choose.’
‘I know. I read it in the newspaper.’
‘I must have freedom of expression.’
‘If you would like to improve your oral expression, Your Majesty, I am happy to help. Perhaps a private tutor? Don’t despair, Your Majesty: anybody can be made coherent with a little time and effort. Well,
almost
anybody.’
‘I will not join this coalition if I must tape my mouth up in the name of solidarity. Unshackle Sihanouk, I say. Allow him to give interviews and offer his personal opinions. It is Sihanouk’s right to speak on behalf of his people.’
‘Your people ask only that you denounce the Vietnamese imperialists.’ ‘No: I have so much to say. So much. I will write a book. You can’t stop me.’
‘You will defeat Vietnam with words, then?’
‘Sihanouk will engage the world in constructive debate, to counter Vietnam and to counter the wanton propaganda of certain other interested parties.’
‘You will remain free, I am certain, to employ anyone you choose to write your books. I happen to know that your friend Whittlemore could use the money.’
‘I want arms for my soldiers.’
‘Goodness: words
and
arms?’
‘The Chinese will arm and train my troops. They will treat them equally.’
‘But we will be one group. Therefore, we will already be equal.’
‘Sihanouk’s soldiers will be armed and trained. Sihanouk’s army will be a separate and distinct body. China must help Sihanouk.’
‘I cannot speak for China.’
‘Not out loud, at least.’
‘Perhaps we should ask them to join us here. Or if you believe that the Chinese wield so much influence, perhaps they could simply tell us later what we must agree to. That would leave us free to go straight to lunch.’
Sihanouk pushed his chair back and paced the room, interrupting Kiry’s view of the frozen hills. He had gained weight, Kiry noticed, but his powerful legs comfortably carried his ample belly. ‘I must say, Your Majesty, you are the picture of health. In fact, you are the spitting image of your portrait.’
‘After we achieve victory, after we have defeated the Vietnamese, after the Cambodian state and the Cambodian monarchy are restored, all our armies – mine, yours, the KPNLF – will disarm.’
‘It will not take the KPNLF long to disarm. I believe that Son Sann has an antique French rifle and a box of wet ammunition in his storehouse. And a kilo or two of rice.’
‘After the Vietnamese capitulate, after our glorious victory, we will all disarm.’
‘Surely the new Kampuchean state will need an army?’
‘We will invite the United Nations to guarantee security in the new Cambodia and we—’
‘Ah. Replace foreigners with foreigners: ingenious, Your Majesty.’ ‘And then we will hold peaceful, democratic elections.’
‘I remember your democratic elections, Your Majesty. How very popular you were.’
‘The people are my children. They adore me so they vote for me. It brings tears of joy to my eyes to think of it. Besides, have you forgotten that you won a seat in Sihanouk’s parliament? Twice.’
‘A lovely gift, that empty box. How will I ever be able to repay you?’
‘So we seem to be at an impasse,’ Sihanouk said.
‘I know. I read it in the newspaper.’
‘I have told you my concerns.’
‘You have, Your Majesty. There is nothing left but for me to wish you health and happiness in your retirement. I hear you are renovating your cottage in Mougins. And then there is this place. It’s magnificent, Your Majesty. I could well understand if you never wanted to leave here.’
‘Oh no. No no no. Sihanouk will never abandon his children. Never.’
‘With my deepest respect, Your Majesty, you can have your concerns, your provisos, or you can be reunited with your millions of children. You cannot have both.’
‘And what then? Will you cellar Sihanouk and Monique again, leave us to grow old and dusty? Will we all be communists again?’
‘The Khmer Rouge no longer think this way.’
‘Oh no?’
‘The world can change in an instant. We change with it.’
Sihanouk clapped his hands, licked his lips and opened his mouth wide, allowing his laugh its fullest range. ‘And they call me a joker.’
Nhem Kiry grasped the commemorative fountain pen. The fever caused his brain to expand. Hot fluid burst out of his eyes and a steady flow of pus and blood and brain matter ran down his nose and into his mouth. Or so it felt.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the document in front of him:
On this day the 13th of ... in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia ... formation
of the Coalition Government of Democratic Kampuchea ... Funcinpec,
represented by Prince Norodom Sihanouk ... the Honourable Son Sann
… He couldn’t make sense of the document, even though he’d written the first draft himself, taking a hard line with Sihanouk and poor tired old Son Sann. He hated to sign a document he couldn’t properly read – it could say anything, it could be a forgery, it could be a trap – but the crowd had assembled at his own bidding. He had no choice.
He closed one eye to focus, signed his name and shook hands with somebody – Sihanouk? – then somebody else. Or was it the same man twice? He wasn’t sure and didn’t much care. He stood now, although he had no memory of having left his chair and he couldn’t feel his legs. He wondered if he had stepped on a landmine. It was bound to happen sometime. Or had Sihanouk and Son Sann finally given into temptation and thrown buckets of boiling oil all over him? Or had somebody amputated his legs as some sort of bizarre anti-war protest? Was he going to have to sit like Buddha for the rest of his life? Was he halfway through a slow-motion assassination? Was this how it had ended for Bun Sody?
He suspected but could not prove that he was in another room now. He sat behind a table and put his hand on the white linen cloth, leaving behind a sodden imprint. He resisted an urge to pull the cloth off the table and wipe his face and neck with it.
‘Drink some water,’ a shape beside him said. It sounded like Kolab. She had no business being here.
‘You haven’t brought the children, have you?’ he asked crossly. ‘Put your clothes on, woman: this is neither the time nor the place.’
‘Come on, Mr Vice President, just a little sip.’
He blinked at the shape but that didn’t help. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped away the fog with a flick of his arm, as if he was swatting mosquitoes. Blurry but unmistakable, grinning like a monkey, Prince Sihanouk materialised. He pointed at the jug. But Kiry found the task of getting the water into his mouth insurmountable. He burped, gasped and dry-retched.
‘Oh dear, Mr Vice President, you need to brush your teeth. You need a peppermint,’ Sihanouk said.
Kiry felt like weeping. He wanted to curl up under the table and
104
let himself fall into a coma.
Somebody in front of him whispered something in an urgent tone.
‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘It hurts to listen.’
‘Your Excellency, can you hear me?’
‘Who’s there?’ he said.
‘It’s me. It’s Akor Sok. Are you all right, Your Excellency?’
‘Of course. Stop asking me.’
‘Here, drink some water.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been here with you all this time.’
‘Liar.’
‘Can you answer some questions?’
‘Your tie is crooked. For goodness’ sake, have some self-respect.’
‘Just one or two questions?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Not questions from me, Mr Vice President. Questions from these journalists. Some of them have come a long way to see you.’
Another wave of heat broke over him. He shuddered. ‘Yes, yes, I will speak. Go away, get out of my way, give me some space.’
‘President Prince Sihanouk,’ a reporter said, ‘how do you feel about being in an alliance with the Khmer Rouge?’
‘I prefer to fly alone, but without wings even Sihanouk will crash to earth. All of us must join forces to remove Vietnam. The world agrees. We must repulse the Vietnamese army before they turn every single Cambodian into a refugee. Sihanouk will do what he must do. But I wonder if my new vice president for foreign affairs, the oh-so
Honourable
Nhem Kiry, wants to add something. Do you have a few words of wisdom for the people, Mr Vice President?’
‘We will abide by all of the rules of the coalition,’ Kiry said. He gripped the tablecloth. ‘We will do everything in our power … to make the coalition work.’ He paused and stabbed his finger in the direction of a pot plant. ‘And don’t let anybody tell you any different, do you hear? When—’
‘If I may speak,’ Son Sann interrupted. ‘The KPNLF is compelled to join this coalition to save Cambodia from becoming part of Vietnam. But we are democrats. The KPNLF does not support the Khmer Rouge, has never supported the Khmer Rouge and will never support the Khmer Rouge.’
‘With friends like that …’ Sihanouk said, applauding.
‘I’m going to vomit,’ Kiry whispered. ‘Kolab, where are you? Fetch me a bucket. Not that one that reeks of bleach.’
‘Hold on, Your Excellency, you’re doing wonderfully well. You can lie down very soon. I promise,’ Sok said.
‘Wait one moment, hold the presses, I believe our colleague, our new Mr Vice President, has something to add,’ Sihanouk said, rolling his eyes. ‘Oooh la la, he looks as if he needs to add it as a matter of great urgency. Those people in the front seats, I advise you to take evasive action.’
‘Thank you. I am perfectly all right,’ Kiry said.
‘I think it’s fair to say that Mr Vice President has been hot and cold on the question of the formation of the coalition. Is that correct, Mr Vice President? Have you been hot and cold but are you now boiling? Boiling with pleasure, with anticipation, with fraternal love? Yes, surely that’s it: red-hot love,’ Sihanouk said.
‘Democratic Kampuchea ... is resolute in its determination to form ... this alliance of forces in opposition to the expansionist Vi ... etnamese …’ Kiry said. He began to shiver violently and his teeth clattered together. ‘We believe with sober excitement that we can reclaim Kampuchea before it disappears forever into the abyss of Vietnamese imperialism ... Now ... you will excuse ... me.’
Kiry pushed his chair back and stood up. Sok came forward, took his elbow and led him through a side door. Kiry dropped to his haunches and retched, then toppled forward and lay in the vomit.
‘Well, I think everybody here knows how Mr Vice President feels,’ Sihanouk said, clapping his hands and winking. ‘Nonetheless, Sihanouk pledges on behalf of his friends and partners that we will do everything we can to make this alliance work.’
On the first morning of the Second World Conference to Combat Racism and Racial Discrimination, held in Geneva, Cornell E. Jackson – tall, broad-shouldered and chisel-jawed, like the champion quarterback he had always expected to become – bounded up the stairs of the auditorium with all the enthusiasm of a missionary. Thirty-five years old, he was dressed in a pristine white shirt and a red tie adorned with blue and white dots. He paused, one leg in the air, stable as a gymnast, and gave an effusive wave to the Soviet delegation. Chief Delegate Olag Katkov scratched his ear and declined to respond.