They went to a new and modern shop for CDs that was run by a record label. Dara knew all the cool new music, most of it influenced by Khmer-Americans returning from Long Beach and Compton: Sdey, Phnom Penh Bad Boys, Khmer Kid.
Sith bought twenty CDs.
They went to the National Museum and saw the beautiful Buddha-like head of King Jayavarman VII. Dara without thinking ducked and held up his hands in prayer. They had dinner in a French restaurant with candles and wine, and it was just like in a karaoke video, a boy, a girl, and her money all going out together. They saw the show at Sovanna Phum, and there was a wonderful dance piece with sampled 1940s music from an old French movie, with traditional Khmer choreography.
Sith went home, her heart singing, Dara, Dara, Dara.
In the bedroom, a mobile phone began to ring, over and over. Call 1 said the screen, but gave no name or number, so the person was not on Sith's list of contacts.
She turned off the phone. It kept ringing. That's when she knew for certain.
She hid the phone in a pillow in the spare bedroom and put another pillow on top of it and then closed the door.
All forty-two of her mobile phones started to ring. They rang from inside closets, or from the bathroom where she had forgotten them. They rang from the roof terrace and even from inside a shoe under her bed.
"I am a very stubborn girl!” she shouted at the spirits. “You do not scare me."
She turned up her iPod and finally slept.
As soon as the sun was up, she roused her driver, slumped deep in his hammock.
"Come on, we're going to Soriya Market,” she said.
The driver looked up at her dazed, then remembered to smile and lower his head in respect.
His face fell when she showed up in the garage with all forty-two of her mobile phones in one black bag.
It was too early for Soriya Market to open. They drove in circles with sunrise blazing directly into their eyes. On the streets, men pushed carts like beasts of burden, or carried cascades of belts into the old Central Market. The old market was domed, art deco, the color of vomit, French. Sith never shopped there.
"Maybe you should go visit your Mom,” said the driver. “You know, she loves you. Families are there for when you are in trouble."
Sith's mother lived in Thailand and they never spoke. Her mother's family kept asking for favors: money, introductions, or help with getting a job. Sith didn't speak to them any longer.
"My family is only trouble."
The driver shut up and drove.
Finally Soriya opened. Sith went straight to Dara's shop and dumped all the phones on the blue countertop. “Can you take these back?"
"We only do exchanges. I can give a new phone for an old one.” Dara looked thoughtful. “Don't worry. Leave them here with me, I'll go sell them to a guy in the old market, and give you your money tomorrow.” He smiled in approval. “This is very sensible."
He passed one phone back, the one with video and email. “This is the best one, keep this."
Dara was so competent. Sith wanted to sink down onto him like a pillow and stay there. She sat in the shop all day, watching him work. One of the guys from the games shop upstairs asked, “Who is this beautiful girl?"
Dara answered proudly, “My girlfriend."
Dara drove her back on the Dream and at the door to her house, he chuckled. “I don't want to go.” She pressed a finger against his naughty lips, and smiled and spun back inside from happiness.
She was in the ground-floor garage. She heard something like a rat scuttle. In her bag, the telephone rang. Who were these people to importune her, even if they were dead? She wrenched the mobile phone out of her bag and pushed the green button and put the phone to her ear. She waited. There was a sound like wind.
A child spoke to her, his voice clogged as if he was crying. “They tied my thumbs together."
Sith demanded. “How did you get my number?"
"I'm all alone!"
"Then ring somebody else. Someone in your family."
"All my family are dead. I don't know where I am. My name is…"
Sith clicked the phone off. She opened the trunk of the car and tossed the phone inside it. Being telephoned by ghosts was so… unmodern. How could Cambodia become a number one country if its cell phone network was haunted?
She stormed up into the salon. On top of a table, the $1500, no-mess dog stared at her from out of his packaging. Sith clumped up the stairs onto the roof terrace to sleep as far away as she could from everything in the house.
She woke up in the dark, to hear thumping from downstairs.
The sound was metallic and hollow, as if someone were locked in the car. Sith turned on her iPod. Something was making the sound of the music skip. She fought the tangle of wires, and wrenched out another player, a Xen, but it too skipped, burping the sound of speaking voices into the middle of the music.
Had she heard a ripping sound? She pulled out the earphones, and heard something climbing the stairs.
A sound of light, uneven lolloping. She thought of crippled children. Frost settled over her like a heavy blanket and she could not move.
The robot dog came whirring up onto the terrace. It paused at the top of the stairs, its camera nose pointing at her to see, its useless eyes glowing cherry red.
The robot dog said in a warm, friendly voice, “My name is Phalla. I tried to buy my sister medicine and they killed me for it."
Sith tried to say, “Go away,” but her throat wouldn't open.
The dog tilted its head. “No one even knows I'm dead. What will you do for all the people who are not mourned?"
Laughter blurted out of her, and Sith saw it rise up as cold vapor into the air.
"We have no one to invite us to the feast,” said the dog.
Sith giggled in terror. “Nothing. I can do nothing!” she said, shaking her head.
"You laugh?” The dog gathered itself and jumped up into the hammock with her. It turned and lifted up its clear plastic tail and laid a genuine turd alongside Sith. Short brown hair was wound up in it, a scalp actually, and a single flat white human tooth smiled out of it.
Sith squawked and overturned both herself and the dog out of the hammock and onto the floor. The dog pushed its nose up against hers and began to sing an old-fashioned children's song about birds.
Something heavy huffed its way up the stairwell toward her. Sith shivered with cold on the floor and could not move. The dog went on singing in a high, sweet voice. A large shadow loomed out over the top of the staircase, and Sith gargled, swallowing laughter, trying to speak.
"There was thumping in the car and no one in it,” said the driver.
Sith sagged toward the floor with relief. “The ghosts,” she said. “They're back.” She thrust herself to her feet. “We're getting out now. Ring the Hilton. Find out if they have rooms."