Smoking Poppy by Graham Joyce (the read aloud family .txt) 📕

falling into the throat of the world, parallel to the surface of the earth, hitting trees and other objects but never stopping in our descent as we plummeted further and further into twilight. I grabbed at the floor to steady myself and the hut righted. When I looked back at Charlie her eyes were shut, after all, and she slept on.

Later when Charlie woke, she spotted Rupert Bear looking down at her from the bamboo wall. She gasped. She took him down from the wall and hugged him. Then she went strangely quiet, and asked me why I’d brought him. She didn’t let go of Rupert for a long time.

I was glad. It meant she was holding on to the old days.

Some time later, when Rupert had finally tumbled free of her grasp, I picked him up and made to lodge him back in the bamboo wall. It was then that I made a significant discovery. Looking for somewhere better to locate Rupert I noticed a rough star-wheel of bamboo above Charlie’s sleeping head, at the point where the upright bamboo canes met the giant tobacco-leaf roof. A big dry leaf had been stuffed behind the bamboo there and I thought I could see some small object lodged behind.

‘What is it?’ Charlie said.

I had to get Mick to help me. We dragged a spindly, low table across the floor, and I climbed on it. A little unsteady, I reached up and pulled a folded piece of paper from behind the dry leathery leaf. I got down from the table and unfolded the paper. Mick moved in closer to take a look.

We were both shocked into silence. As we stood gazing at the paper, I heard Mick’s breathing go shallow. My hand holding the thing started to tremble, not with fear, but with renewed anger. Mick grabbed at the paper, trying to relieve me of it, but I wouldn’t let him take it.

In the middle of the sheet of paper had been glued a Polaroid snapshot of Charlie. In the snapshot she was wearing a swimsuit and was washing her hair in a river. She was bending over, smiling at the photographer who’d presumably caught her unawares. It was a happy and spontaneous photograph, taken in the fresh golden light of early morning.

Around the photograph, and on the backing paper, several winged demonic figures had been added with thick black lines of charcoal. The figures had bulging eyes and ferocious teeth. The cartoon style in which they had been sketched would have been ridiculous if it were not for the fact that all of these airborne figures had massive, erect penises extending from the paper and on to the photograph, so that the image of Charlie was being assaulted: between her legs, at her anus, at her mouth, at her ears and at her eyes.

I ground my teeth together in an action purely involuntary.

‘Can I see?’ said Charlie.

‘Let’s stop and think clearly about this,’ Mick said. But thinking clearly about it was the last thing either of us could do. At last I let him take it from me, and he held the thing at arm’s length, as if something vile and unholy might leap from the paper and crawl up his shoulders. His other hand massaged his own, leathery neck, slowly and ineffectively. Mick, the steady rock, was shaken. I could see him thinking how much more of this? ‘Let’s stop and get a grip,’ he said.

Charlie stepped up quickly behind him and snatched the thing from his hand. She nodded briefly, as if understanding. ‘Right,’ she said, very quietly. ‘Right.’

We immediately started looking for more of the same, as if we’d found a scorpion nestling in the bamboo. And we discovered two similar papers secreted in the walls. Different shots of Charlie glued to backing paper, but overdrawn with obscene figures.

‘But who would do this?’ Mick said. ‘Out of the villagers, who would do this?’

I knew what he meant. The uncovering of these dirty objects could make our situation much worse, depending on who was behind it. I started counting. High among the suspects had to be Khiem, village medicine man and sorcerer. But somehow I didn’t see his hand in this, and for once in my life I decided to trust my instincts. Either way, if I were to brandish the hideous articles in his face, I could study his reaction. ‘Khiem?’ I said.

‘No,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s Khao; the one with the beard. His father is a sorcerer in another village, where he left in disgrace. He would like to be a sorcerer here, for which reason Khiem is his enemy, I know that. These people live and breathe spirits. They don’t simply believe in them; they live and work and play side by side with spirits every moment of their lives. They entertain the spirits. They invite the spirits into their lives.’

‘Just as you have done, Charlie,’ said Phil drawing up behind her. ‘Just as we all have done.’

I decided to show Khiem because if Charlie was right and he was innocent, then I thought he would want to help me. There was another reason: I had to go out and look for any signs of the villagers regarding us differently. I figured if they knew what had happened, Jack would too.

I left for the poppy fields with the ugly spirit papers folded inside my money pouch. Mick and Phil stayed behind with Charlie. Meanwhile the village radio shrieked out high-pitched Thai pop tunes. What had previously been an acoustic irritant was now a torment to the nerves.

Khiem, as was his usual habit, was working the poppies a little way off from the rest of the villagers. He was incising. Seeing me striding towards him he straightened his back.

‘Khiem,’ I said on reaching him. He didn’t even blink, regarding me steadily. I opened a packet of cigarettes and offered one. He accepted, all the while eyeing me suspiciously. He saw that my hands were shaking. I lit