The owner of the huts came to speak to her, her two little children in tow. Laura was amazed at how the children were allowed to play right beside the bank of the fast-flowing river, while the young mother looked on with an indulgent smile.
‘You want breakfast?’ she asked. ‘Your husband hungry?’
‘He’s not awake yet,’ said Laura, and the woman smiled.
‘He must be very tired. You come from Bangkok yesterday. The train very slow.’
It certainly had been slow. They’d sat sweating on wooden benches in third class as the train rattled through the outskirts of Bangkok and then moved west across the flat paddy fields, stopping at every outstation and tiny village on the route. They had arrived in Kanchanaburi at dusk and wandered through the streets of the little town, carrying their rucksacks, until someone had shown them the way to the river and the lines of little bamboo huts that had sprung up beside it to cater to backpackers.
They had eaten a delicious meal of pork fried rice cooked outside in a wok over a naked flame by the young woman’s husband, and Laura had taken an outdoor shower in cold water. When she had returned to their hut, yawning from jet lag and ready to go to bed, she was surprised to see Luke dressed in a clean shirt and jeans, and sitting on the platform, smoking, feet dangling in the river.
‘I think I’ll go and check out the scene in town,’ he said.
‘Don’t you want to go to bed? I thought we could go to the museum tomorrow morning. It would be good to make an early start.’
‘Come on. Don’t be a bore. It’s a holiday too, Loz. Why don’t we find a bar and relax over a few beers?’
‘I don’t think so. I’d really like to get over this jet lag. You go by yourself if you want to.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He jumped up, splashing river water onto the bamboo. He ruffled her hair as he walked past. ‘I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.’
Despite her tiredness, sleep hadn’t come to her. She had wondered where Luke was, had listened for the sound of his footsteps. The air was filled with strange sounds: the buzz of crickets and the cries of jungle creatures, wild dogs barking in the hills. After some time, she caught the distant thump of music, which grew louder and louder. She crawled out of her low bed, and peered through the slats of the door. She saw a huge raft chugging past on the river, pounding out disco music, lit up with revolving lights and crowded with people, drinking and dancing. After it had passed, she was just falling asleep when once again the thump-thump of drums broke the silence. This happened at regular intervals for several hours, and she had only just managed to drift off when she was awoken again by the flimsy hut wobbling as Luke opened the door and crawled into bed beside her.
‘Where have you been?’
‘I found a bar down the road. Got playing pool with a couple of Aussies. Sampled some of the local ganja. It’s cool stuff. You should have come, Loz.’
‘I’m not really into smoking dope. You know that.’
‘Oh, lighten up, won’t you. You’re not in your solicitors’ office now.’
She had lain awake for a long time after he had started snoring, mulling bitterly over what he had said.
‘I’ll have my breakfast, if that’s OK, and then I’ll go to the museum,’ Laura said now to the Thai woman.
‘Your husband not go with you?’
‘He had a late night. I think he needs to sleep it off.’
She left the guesthouse and walked along the road beside the river. The map in her guidebook showed her that the Death Railway Museum was on the river at the other end of town. Before she had gone ten paces, her body was bathed in sweat. There was no pavement, so she picked her way along next to a storm drain. She was forced to step out into the road at regular intervals to avoid food-stalls, parked vehicles and stray dogs lounging on the kerbside. After a while an open-backed vehicle drew up beside her, and the driver said, ‘You want songtheaw?’
She looked at him puzzled, and he banged the side of the vehicle, smiling with blackened teeth.
‘This songtheaw.’
‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘Could you take me to the museum?’
There were already several other people sitting on the two wooden seats at the back of the vehicle. They smiled at her as she scrambled on board. It stopped at various places along the road to let people off and pick up others. She gathered that it was a cross between a taxi and a mini bus.
She was dropped outside the museum, and the other passengers waved as they drove off. She hesitated at the entrance. It didn’t look like a museum. It consisted of several long, low huts made of bamboo. As she went towards the first one she read a sign that explained that the huts were replicas of the bamboo atap huts which the prisoners had built to house themselves whilst building the railway.
She ducked through the low door and went inside. The ticket booth was manned by a plump monk swathed in saffron robes.
Laura smiled at him as she paid ten Baht for a ticket.
‘I’m interested in finding out about my father. He was a prisoner on the railway,’ she said.
The monk smiled broadly and waved a hand in the direction of the entrance.
‘All information is here,’ he said, inclining his head.
‘Do you have any records about individual prisoners?’
‘Only information that is here. No records,’
