Cat Pagoda

 THE CAT PAGODA.

Happy Christmas Sophia, love from Aki.

The robes hung from an improvised washing line like massive scarlet and orange flags which rippled in the gentle breeze. The same breeze which shifted the dry leaves and dust in the half derelict pagoda. At first, as he walked cautiously around, there were no other signs of life.

Apart from the robes, that pagoda looked like it had been abandoned for years. Beside the fading golden shrines, towers and statues were piles of sand, patches of raw earth and derelict dormitory buildings. Maybe construction had never been finished, or maybe it had fallen into disrepair, then maintenance had begun but never completed. A huge puddle from last night’s rain flooded the ground between dusty white towers adorned with huge, gold painted snakes 

There were no sounds beside the rustling caused by the wind and no signs of life.

Until the cats began to appear…

The first and most memorable was sleeping at the feet of a statue of Phra Mae Thorani. So peacefully did the cat sleep that it looked as though she were part of the statue. The cat rested serenely as the goddess washed stars from her hair to banish the demon who threatened the Budda.

Not wishing to disturb the cat in its divine slumber, he turned away and walked toward the bell tower. Slowly, he felt the gaze of dozens of eyes upon him. He kept walking, things always felt surreal in pagodas…

Then they emerged from the semi-derelict dormitory next to the washing line where the crimson robes hung. First one, then three more, then five more cats, advancing cautiously. He turned and walked closer to the nearest cat, which was a miniature tabby with a stunted tail that stuck up like an antenna. He squatted down to stroke her ear, but before he could touch her, she backed away. It looked at him questioningly for a moment, locking eyes. Then it swiftly turned tail and trotted away. The other cats followed, scattering amongst the dormitory and tombs behind it.

Feeling uncomfortable, and a little rejected, he decided to leave by the nearest gate. As he stepped out onto the lane he felt sudden relief.

On the opposite side of the lane an old woman was sitting on a plastic chair selling bubble tea. She called out to him, but she did not understand the language so he smiled politely. She kept calling out, becoming more excited. Feeling awkward, he waved and kept walking. The last he saw of her, she had lit an incense stick and was spinning around in a painfully slow dance. 

I’ll never understand this country…

Later that day, he was sat drinking icy beer in a pub that was little more than a shelter made of bamboo and plastic. He kept thinking about the Cat-Pagoda (as he now referred to it in his mind). He thought about taking another look on his way home, but one beer followed another. A quiet instinct told him that visiting there late at night was a very bad idea, and as it got later he had no interest in going anywhere apart from to bed.

When he woke up the next day, he vaguely remembered talking to a strange man in a bright burgundy suit with an ageless face. The man had told him to stay away from the Cat-Pagoda… something about a curse. He was not sure if it was a drunken memory or a dream.

There was no work to be done that day, so he ate a brunch of spicy pork, fried egg and rice, washed down with two big bottles of beer.

After that, he wanted to take a siesta. He lay down in the big, mahogany bed. The blazing sun flowed in through the silk curtains. He closed his eyes but he could not sleep.

Images floated across his half conscious mind; the little grey cat with the crazy tail, the urgency on the face of the old woman, the statue of Phra Mae Thorani smiling down on him.

He rolled around in the sweaty bed, trying to get comfortable.After a few minutes he gave up, made a glass of black coffee and sat on the balcony. 

It was hot, and the sun was so bright it was almost blinding. He was reduced to squatting in a corner on the floor, in the only patch of shade.

Outside the Cat Pagoda, drinking green tea from a plastic cup.

When he first turned up, the old woman had given him a dirty look and appeared to be about to start shouting at him again. He had smiled at her and pointed at the tea, so she thought better of it. 

Tall grass and wild flowers grew in the cracks in the pavement. Further down the path someone's pet bird sang in its cage. Occasionally a bicycle would glide past.

A young woman in a long dress with raven hair down to her waist sat next to him and ordered bubble tea in the melodic local language.

Almost immediately, the old woman started shouting at her, gesturing at him, shouting at him, then shouting at the girl again.

“Excuse me,” he asked the girl, when the old woman paused, “can you speak English?”

“Hello, I’m fine, thank you… my English not good,” she replied shyly.

“That’s ok. Can you help me? What is the grandmother shouting about?”

“She say… no go in pagoda… not lucky… cat are not cat… sorry, I don’t  understand she.”

“I like the cats,” he said.

She smiled, the old woman calmed down, and that was the end of it.

That time there were no signs of life in the pagoda. No robes flying, no cats to welcome him, only the sensation of a dozen hidden eyes watching. Feeling unwelcome and foolish, he left quickly.

Only a madman would dress like that in this heat, he thought. Opposite him, at a plastic table in the bamboo pub, was the ageless man. In addition to the bright suit, he wore a red waistcoat and a purple bowtie. It was 45 degrees in the shade and there was no shade.

The man had been there first, and he looked like he had been drinking all day. The madman had welcomed him with a knowing smile and a lazy gesture towards an empty chair.

“If you want to know the truth, go to the pagoda at midnight. You will learn nothing from old tea ladies in the blazing sun,” the man told him without introduction.

Then he quickly changed the subject. Many subjects; the weather; the state of backpackers these days; life after covid; why he would never return to Europe… Any topic apart from the Cat Pagoda.  

Soon getting tired of this erratic conversation, he went home, ate dinner and drank coffee until 11.30.

A lone street light dimly illuminated the main gate to the pagoda. Venturing in, all was darkness until he reached the dormitory which was lit by a single bare bulb hanging from a wire and an oil lamp on a crudely made wooden table. Two monks sat at the table, others wandered in the darkness, some carrying candles or lamps. The night air smelt of incense and faint chanting could be heard.

There were no cats to be seen.

The monk avoided his gaze. They were all busy in their little worlds of semi darkness. He felt like he was interrupting something private, like walking into the middle of a stranger’s funeral.

No cats, no answers.

Why did I listen to that madman?

There was a girl with rosy cheeks and hair like wild starlight. She sat cross-legged on the pavement close to the gate. Years later he would remember everything about her, apart from the colour of her eyes, which he could never recall.   

“Long ago there was a man from far away. He was lost and had no place to sleep. The monks turned him away. Unfortunately, that man was a servant of the Budda, and he lay a curse upon them to teach them the virtue of hospitality. Now they like it better that way. It started as a curse, in the end it set them free,” she told him, then walked off into the night.

Was any of it real? Could any of it possibly be real? Was beer and sleep deprivation ruining my mind? Who can say what is real and what is not- what is possible or impossible- in a country where nothing makes sense?