The Good Enemy

Chapter Four

A FUNERAL AND A BELT

I watch the monks chant and pray, leading the hundredth day funeral service for Mae Noi Chaisuwan, Hathai's former nanny, whose existence I wasn't aware of until yesterday.

Everyone joins the monks in prayer, but my attention stays on Hathai, staring blankly at the picture of the woman who was once dear to her. Seated next to her, her mother, Elina—Khun Cheng. She is focused on her prayers.

I haven't been to a funeral in a while. Oddly, I find it comforting: the sadness that looms in the temple, the peaceful chants and prayer, the smell of incense and flowers. They all bring me a peculiar type of peace. 

A week ago, Hathai found me passed out at the bottom of the staircase at the Cheng mansion. It must have been scary for her to see me like that. But only a day after promising to behave if I don't die, she went back to treating me like I'm invisible.

I don't think death scares her. I watch her place flowers and light her incense. Her movements are precise and fearless. I think losing people does. She's lost one of her parents, then her longtime nanny. That is a lot of grief for a child, I do not think she has even begun to process it.

And still, I think there is more—more I can't see, because she—Khun Cheng, never makes herself available to answer any questions. Today is the first time I have seen her since that night. Even when I'm not thinking about her, I am. The daughter and the mother are different sides of the same coin. 

 

The funeral wraps up and we begin to exit the temple. It appears Hathai's former nanny worked for some of the wealthiest families in the country. The guests in attendance are all draped in black. Although simple looking with no jewelry in sight, you can tell those are expensive clothes. Different convertibles, and limousines, are packed outside the temple, waiting for the families, many of whom have formed small circles, sharing conversation that seem rather friendly.

I watch Hathai walk straight to her car, ignoring all the other children in attendance. When Khun Cheng steps out of the temple, everyone's gaze fall on her. Her face is plain and as beautiful as a sunflower field, illuminated by the setting sun. Grace radiates from her, she doesn't even have to try.

Even in my current distaste for her, I am in wonder. It is not difficult to see the admiration and jealousy on the face of the guests who have come to say their final goodbye. Some whisper, some stare. Khun Cheng is highly regarded among the wealthy, it seems. She greets a few guests; short simple greetings, then walks to her car. I have not spoken to either Khun Cheng or Hathai today. Ironic, since Khun Cheng insisted I attend the funeral, only to keep me far away from them. They drive off and I turn to leave the premises.

"Khun Sutthaya." Khun Toh approaches. We both bow in greeting. 

"Khun, I didn't see you inside." 

"I was behind you through most of it." He smiles and I nod. "I'll drive you back to the mansion." 

"That will not be necessary, I'm heading home." 

"Khun Cheng insists you return to the mansion and spend the night." 

"And she couldn't just tell me that herself? I was right there." 

He doesn't respond, staring at me with no expression. I scoff, holding his empty gaze for a few seconds before walking to his car and slamming the door. My impatience is rumbling to the surface. For weeks I've had a lid over it; trying hard to keep it contained. Now, I feel that lid slipping. We drive off, and I keep my eyes on the window, tapping my laps with a single finger, a bitter taste in my mouth as I grind my teeth.