The Only Witness
Chapter 1 - A Peaceful Day
Returning to the village on the way back from his regular morning cycle ride, Alfie Mynn had a strange feeling, as he turned off the canal road and pedalled leisurely through the village. When his stomach started churning for no apparent reason, it was usually a sign of something untoward brewing. Eight in the morning is not early, especially in the small farming communities of Thailand. Most folk were up by five-thirty, before the sun rose. But today was Sunday, and workers were not rushing to work in the nearby factories. Even so, the more than usual quiet was eerie.
It took an unusual occurrence to disrupt the tranquillity of the picturesque landscape and peaceful communities of North Thailand’s villages. Alfie was past middle-age, but he was fit, because every day he walked across the farms and along the riverbank, or he pedalled through the adjoining villages on his way to the golf club. On weekdays he waved to the school kids as they played by the shelter in the centre of the village. They waited there for the bus to pick them up and take them to a nearby village. The old school in the temple grounds, they used to attend, was closed last month, so they had to go to the one across the main highway. It wasn’t far, about four kilometres, and they had fun on the bus before the more serious matter of school began.
The two old ladies who waved and shouted to Alfie as he rode by earlier were still busy at the food stall in the adjoining village when he returned. Thais do that without subtlety or a hint of shyness. They begged him to stop and eat the food they cooked early and sold on the roadside. Trade was good, so it didn’t bother them that he just waved back and rode on. People didn’t cook for themselves if they worked outside the village. They were up before sunrise, and it was easier to grab a takeaway meal of khanom jin or kapow moo sab on their way to work. At twenty-five or thirty Baht, it was much cheaper too, and still the old ladies made good money from their little shops. Their husbands, who were already busy on the family farm, never saw how many customers their wife’s food stall had, and they certainly never saw the money they made. If they found out, sales of whiskey in the village would have gone through the roof.
Alfie pedalled up the incline and out of the last village, onto the canal road, which took him to the Golf Club where he greeted the gateman in his usual cheery way, with a simple hello and how are you.
“Sawasdee krupp.”
“Sawasdee krupp. Sabaidee mai krupp?” the gateman called back.
“Sabaidee, khob khun krupp.”
He parked his bike, stretched, and breathed in the fresh morning air before strolling along the path leading to the sixth tee. The morning sun broke through the trees which lined the fairway, and a foursome was just replacing the flag in the hole on the fifth green. Alfie stopped to greet them before turning his attention to the pretty young lady who ran the little drinks café. One of the staff from the clubhouse drove her there in a golf buggy at the same time every morning, so she could clean and open up. Alfie bought a coke and sat with her on the wall chatting as the foursome tee’d off. When they had gone Alfie paid for his drink, said goodbye and walked back to the gatehouse.
It wasn’t far from home, about twelve kilometres round trip, but it was an invigorating ride with no hills and few inclines. Most days he did it in forty-five minutes. Occasionally he needed longer when his legs felt more like a creaky eighty-five-year old’s, or he didn’t get a good night’s sleep.
There wasn’t a soul in the high street as he rode through the village. He saw no walkers, no cyclists, no motorbikes, trucks or cars, no children, and no shops were open. It was like a ghost town in a Western movie, without the tumbleweed. Has a plague hit our little village in the night? I know it’s Sunday, but this is very odd, Alfie thought.