The Best Australian Yarn runner-up: Me, Pete and the American by Frank Leggett

I thought it was unusual when peter’s mother phoned me her conversation was disjointed so full of empty spaces I suspected she was drunk so I just chatted away about the weather, tv shows, petrol prices until she dropped the bombshell pete had been killed in thailand some kind of boating accident could I collect his body and bring it back to australia for burial then she started sobbing so I said no problem, margaret just leave everything to me I’m on it but I felt sick and dubious as I said it. Two days later I was on a flight to bangkok — my old stomping ground — then a train trip north to a little town crouching on the mekong like a bored child with nothing to do but watch for fireballs released by the naga serpent of the river that dragged my friend down and filled his lungs with mud and water. At the ramshackle station I showed two policemen my passport they laughed and smiled to cover their nervousness about dealing with a westerner who wanted to take the body of his dead friend home with him to australia I was nervous too I may have laughed once or twice, myself. I filled in forms the badly translated english like a non-roman language maybe tamil or cuneiform or morse code I tried to remember the name of my hotel my flight number my passport number my phone number my mother’s maiden name I got lost in the minutiae of thai legalese and bureaucratic repetition when it was done I remembered pete was dead and I missed my old mate all over again. God! his face was unrecognisable understandable, I suppose with the drowning and the lack of refrigeration in the makeshift morgue I looked and looked for the old pete but I just couldn’t see him his hair, once a mousy brown was blonde as a movie star (but pete had dyed his hair in the past) he had a dragon tattoo on his forearm that I had never seen before (but pete always wanted a tattoo) he had put on weight a lot of weight (and I suppose that was possible too) was this pete? I just couldn’t say. Then one of the policemen showed me a small bag that was found with the body it contained pete’s stuff passport, iphone, water bottle, keys — and a photo of the both of us arms around shoulders the sun in our eyes laughing fit to burst I was convinced so I signed the papers and got out of there as fast as I could while they boxed him up for the flight home. The heat that day was brutal but the bar was blessed with an uneven breeze whispering in from the river I couldn’t move I just couldn’t move so I ordered more and more beers and watched the boats on the water and let the day slip through my fingers by the time the sun set I was pissed that was when the man approached me he had a dead straight part in his hair and wore a shiny blue suit that looked impossible in that cruel heat his teeth were the colour of caramel or maybe tofu he leant down put his lips next to my ear and whispered: Your friend was a very bad man. What? I said. Mister peter he breathed, was a Very. Bad. Man. He killed the american. I jumped to my feet the room whirlygigged around my head so I sat back down grabbed the table for support the shiny blue suit smiled so large his caramel/tofu teeth took on luna park proportions and then he was gone. Mad bastard, I thought I went for a walk through the dark night to clear my head found a carnival of sorts by the river everyone was waiting for naga fireballs to rise from the water the crowd was large and friendly even though men were drinking whisky straight from the bottle I grabbed a pretty good spot settled down to wait for bung fai phaya nak that was when a familiar voice called my name I twisted around and there was pete big as life, plain as day his face stamped with bruises two men quickly hustled him out of sight. I tried to stand but the shiny blue suit slid in beside me and barred my way mister peter is in quite a bit of trouble he is going to stay with us for a while that body in the morgue that american — you take him and go home. And what if I don’t what if I go to the police! then you are in quite a bit of trouble too he showed me a very large handgun recited my address back in australia. Down on the river globules of phosphorescence bobbed to the surface and floated away into the night sky the serpent naga had once again. celebrated buddha’s ascension into tavatimsa heaven. So I took the body home and we buried him with pete’s tombstone at his head and no-one suspected a thing life went on as normal and everyone went back to their usual boring existence except for me pete and the american

The Best Australian Yarn runner-up: Me, Pete and the American by Frank Leggett

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