Maybe Someday

by Ede Clarke

  For now I scoot the mail piles from the middle of the foyer toward the scarred molding and put the tea kettle on. Looking through the small window above the sink, I see the green in the yard is electric like a garden snake as the sunset hits it hard. Yet it does not compete well with the small, brown, rustic cove of Angola I left just hours before on Lake Erie. That was contained and precise in its purpose. The waves came in, rested or fought, and went back out. In the backyard are so many complex negotiations between flowers and leaves and birds and chairs; even a sun-bleached shriveled ball half-hidden under a bush. There really is no clear purpose here . . . anymore.

  As the kettle begins its ascent, an urgent need grows in me to know that I will not be here long. The eventual whistle brings a sense of lateness and that I’m somewhat of a failure. The well-wishes of so many over the past few months—and for so many reasons—become a slide show to comfort my mind as the chamomile soothes my body. But, as the bottom of the cup is revealed, the emptiness of those sentiments is piercing. The truth is that I know other people telling me it’s alright doesn’t make it alright. And other people thinking I’m doing well, or enough, or good, or as good as can be expected, doesn’t mean I really am doing as well or as good as I should be—or enough. I know the truth. I need to get going. I am resting and settling and only God and I know that I can do better right now. Better . . .

  “So, tell me everything about Thailand, Candy. Leave out all the work stuff, though,” I smirk to her while settling in on her rug in front of the couch, plunking down a glass of water and relieved that I’m at rest.

  “You just got here,” Candy booms back as she crosses the den and lands in the recliner poised at an opposing corner of the same rug. “Do you want something more than water. You’ve been driving for hours. Want a sandwich or something?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks. So, do you have trinkets and silks and more textures I can feel. You know—to get a sense of what it was like.”

  “Nah . . . you have to smell Thailand to know it—lemongrass tea and pad thai with lime and peanut. So good! And it’s something that touches you when you’re there—like the seriously hot sun, hot wind, palm branches floating across your arms when you walk down the street. It is . . . well, actually, it’s not just that. You know, it’s also the stench of sewer in Pattya and a god shrine on every corner with rotting food that they never take away and incense in the hot afternoon that I can still smell in my clothes . . . ”

  “So, the typical third-world two-class society scenario?”

  “Eeh . . . not typical. No. It’s not like . . . hmmm . . . there is not that sense of hopelessness I saw in GuangZhou and Delhi and Solntsevo. It’s something in their eyes that gives a sincerity to the culture of their manners. When they say, 'Swadika' as hello or good-bye it is required, and so is the smile, but they seem to actually like their station, their soul. It’s . . . ”

  “You think they like to be slaves to us tourists? To anyone?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that! Give me a break.”

  “I know, I know. Sorry . . . So, do you think the Hindu aspect sets them apart? Is that the difference? What about God?”

  “Look, this is only my second trip to Thailand. I just think that the peace they share as a nation is not founded in fear or surrender to oppression. It seems more authentic.”

  “Authentic enough for you to want it?”

  “Want what?”

  “Well, you’re making me a bit nervous. It’s like you’re saying their peace is better than our faith in God.”

  “Patty, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think it works for them—as a nation.”

  “That is such a cop out answer, Candy. That’s like when Americans say, ‘I don’t believe that but whatever you believe is fine.’ Why can’t we be passionate and have a stance when it comes to the most important decision and foundation of who we are as a person?”

  “You think our belief in God or a god is the end all be all? Try to tell that to an atheist!”

  We both laugh and take swigs of our drinks. “It’s so good to be here with you . . . in person.”

  “Yea, even debating things that we agree on,” she laughs at me and I back at her.

  “Yea.”

  From my view from the floor the angle of the shadows on the tree outside the side den window are light incisions of crispness on the murky bark. Glimpses of detail keep bringing my eye back and back again as we chat. “It looks cold out, but I know it’s thick and summer,” I tell her, rising to the couch to give my knees a break. “I just can’t bend like I used to . . . ” She responds with a knowing nod and a glance at her elbow. “So, tell me more about Phi Phi. Was it awful being there? They must have been appreciative.”

  “It was good that I had been the year before I think. To have a bit of relationship with a few of the workers at the resort and to know the difference of before and after. That history was so important. I felt it as a blanket covering my mood.”

  “Were you afraid to look too much into the water and the caves and stuff?”

  “Yea, we limited our snorkeling. Even though they said they do sweeps every morning. It was just too weird to be lounging when you could help. So, we went to where the old town used to be and helped out one day. But, I gotta tell you, Patty, I’m no twenty-year-old anymore and it was seriously hot and hard work. It took me the whole next day to recover. And, it was good that I knew what it looked like before, because then I knew that seeing clear across to the other side of the island was new. Otherwise you could maybe think nothing had ever filled that space before. You know? I mean the debris is immense. But it doesn’t seem to measure the stature of what once stood there. It made me realize most of those buildings were made out of plants and mud and some wood. All the concrete was still standing, but that was like three buildings . . . and only the outside corners and ceiling. The rest was completely gutted and gone.”

  “So how did you get there? It sounded like Planes, Trains, and Automobiles!”

  “Totally . . . we took a plane from Bangkok to Phukett—that’s south. And the Phukett airport was like a ghost town. It was so different than the bustling tourist trap from last year. This year only one rental car place was open and the field next to the airport that used to be used for small planes was full of white tents for medical and aid workers and aid cargo. It was crazy to think of this later on Phi Phi because there were not enough workers at all at Phi Phi and I kept thinking that some of those tents needed to be moved to the island. Anyway, we then took a van from the Phukett airport to the small port where our boat was waiting. During the drive I kept looking for a sign of the destruction, but there was minimal sign on the land. The biggest indication came at the port when I met the other passengers going to the islands.”

  “So there were others?”

  “Just a few. One man was a video journalist there with his assistant. This guy was the typical skeezie white man living on the cheap and off of sex in Thailand. Just looking at him made me angry. I wanted to tell him that I knew him and had met him before, too many times in Asia. That he should go back to his homeland and leave these poor women alone.”

  “But?”

  “But instead I was a chicken and just listened to his story and heard his pain. He was meeting a woman who would be coming the next day. She had been at my resort on her honeymoon and her fiancé died that day after Christmas when they went into town on the other island. So, she wanted to come back and get some kind of closure.”

  “Only a few months later, though?”

  “I know. I couldn’t imagine. But, she wanted to document it too. So, this guy and his assistant—which he picked up in Pattya two days prior, by the way, and had just met him—were to document it and she even signed a release so that they could use it in a documentary they plan on making.”

  “Selling pain.”

  “Well, buying and selling. It’s all kind of mixed there I think.”

  “And here . . . ” We both sit
for a bit on that thought.

  “Then the other couple on the boat were in love and had no rings, so I decided they were so in love because they were both cheating on their spouses and lied about having a business trip.”

  “You are so funny! You always do this—making up stories of people’s lives that you don’t even know. No wonder marketing is your thing.”

  “Well, who knows if it’s true. But, they were all over each other.”

  Why can’t we believe in love as just love. “Cynic,” I threw at her.

  “Right back atcha,” she winks.

  This is the perfect time to introduce her to the idea of Don. But, I think I want it for myself a bit longer. Plus the day is weighing heavier, and it would take so much energy to present. “So?” I egged her on.

  “Oh. So . . . the ride was beautiful and much calmer than the year before. We had little water come over the bow and none this time that came into the open cabin. The water was just like I remembered: green. It is so different and the air and water are together in a way that is untouchable. At least I felt like I didn’t want to do too much to disrupt it. You know?”

  “Wow—that pure?”

  “Yes. Exactly. I figure the area of these islands is the closest thing now on earth to how the garden of Eden was before the fall.”

  “Did you hear God, too?” The wind kicks up a bit and throws the shadows into deeper hazes, so the definition is gone and suddenly I’m not as interested. This puts me more into the den, more into Candy. “Well, did you?”

  “I see God there. I hear God in my prayers.”

  Oh she’s good. “Good answer.”

  “I know.” We smile at the coyness and that we almost flirt with each other without the sexual nuance. Her brain would turn me on if it was in a guy.

  “So, did you see that greasy guy on the island again?”

  “Ugh, of course no escape. I saw him after dinner one night. He was walking near the bar area.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “Right . . . well, it’s different there though because it’s all open. They have a few restaurants basically on the beach, but they only have a few walls and it’s all open, even the bathrooms have very little coverage save the walls of the actual toilet area. So, everything flows out of everything else.”

  “And?”

  “Oh. And I was polite and he stood too close and I moved on pretty quickly. Aaand . . . So the day I got there I was surprised because the place at first sight looked the same. I then came to realize we were only one of two resorts still standing because we were on the other side of where the wave came in. It actually came all the way over to our side of the island, but because we have large hills with steep cliffs in the middle, it broke the thrust.”

  “Did anyone get hurt on your side?”

  “Yeah, a few were hurt, but no one died. And, the water came to thigh high on one worker who told me her story. She grabbed her baby—they live around the cliff area in huts by the water for the workers—and ran up the hill but was too slow. Again, what saved her and the others was the force of the wave was broken.”

  “So the water came in, but didn’t kill them.”

  “Right. It was there and they felt it and were scared. But they survived. And, as the next four days unfolded, I noticed major vegetation areas completely gone and they had a skeleton staff and only 6 other guests were there.”

  “How many is normal?”

  “I don’t know. About 100 maybe, scattered throughout the resort in the bungalows.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yea. So it was like charity to be there in a way. I wanted them to have their jobs, but many had already gone to Phukett and Krabi looking for steady work. And, one of the girls I kept in touch with from last year who was pregnant went home with her husband to Bangkok finally.”

  “That is understandable.”

  “Yeah, but sad.”

  “At least they are still alive.”

  “You know, Patty, I think that statement is bogus. I mean why do we automatically say that being alive is always better than dead? I mean, I can think of several scenarios where being alive is not better.”

  “Coma? Vegetable? Living through Rwanda’s 100-day war?”

  “So you agree?”

  “No. I’m just helping you make your argument faster so we can get back to the island.”

  “Annoying!”

  “What?”

  “You don’t care about this? You don’t think it’s flippant?”

  “I have been so thoughtful my whole life. A little recklessness with words feels okay right now.”

  “Hmmm.”

  But as soon as I said it, I knew it was a lie and appreciate that she let it go. I had just treasured several days with a man who is careful with ideas and thoughts and words. Should I correct that with Candy? Well, I just did to some extent with myself. Enough. Enough . . .

  “So, the first day I laid around at the pool and it was weird because I was the only person there. They didn’t even have staff at that bar. One person manned the front desk, the pool bar and the restaurant during the day. At one point I used their phone behind the bar to call for a drink. I felt guilty because I was doing nothing in the midst of death, yet I knew my dollars were needed and were possibly doing more than anything else could.”

  “But in the end nothing could take away what happened.”

  “Nothing could make it better. Not really.”

  “Yea. So I called you that day and I tried not to think about work—you know how that takes a while. It was at least the whole morning when I was still jotting down notes of things to take care of when back online.”

  For the first time in a while that seems removed. Erie County, The Five, Marie’s. I have nothing to jot down for any of it. I would have a hard time writing down a to-do list.

  “Where did you go, my friend?”

  She caught me. “Sorry. I was just thinking that I . . . well, I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve had a crucial to-do list and now . . . well, now I think my list would be strange. If I started writing anything down that ought to be done it would be of a different sort.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . . I don’t actually know. But I can’t imagine writing down or doing things like grocery shopping, budgets, and things that are so connected to . . . ” I can’t finish it. I just don’t know.

  “What would be on your list, Patty?”

  “Ah, now that is the question. If I can’t complete a sentence about it, do you actually think I know what’s on the list?!”

  “Okay. Maybe not. Just asking.”

  “I know. I know. I suppose the point is that the things I need to do are about me; not work or the future. And it’s all so deep. And, I’m just sick of me.”

  “Me, too!”

  “Well, then let’s get back to the island. I still haven’t heard about a cabana boy.”

  “Well that was my point. They had one girl running between all these stations. The ones that were lucky enough to still have a job were run ragged. But, they were grateful to be there and I was grateful that their smiles and swatika were intact and in true form—no indication unless you asked of the grief underneath.”

  The night continued to fall and my tiredness took second fiddle to a beautiful note that Candy carried through for hours. I accompanied her, but she shone much brighter and earned first chair.

  “So, when I told them I wanted to go and help on the other side wherever the need was the greatest, they had so many questions and really wanted to make sure I understood that it was ‘not like TV.’ Looking back I think now the biggest difference between what I saw in person and what we see on TV is that the TV gives only the picture and sound of death, not the smell and spirit of death.”

  “You felt it didn’t you?”

  “It was so thick and it hurt deep down inside and would not relent.”

  “Was it like a darkness, an evil you sensed?”

  “No. It didn’t hav
e a side. It didn’t choose. It just was. But it was very. Everything that death is in a normal hospital situation or a car accident, it was magnified there. Sad doesn’t catch it. And it made me feel dirty in the midst of paradise. Maybe in that sense it was evil because evil takes what is good and deceives and manipulates it into evil.”

  “After all. Water is good.”

  “Life giving . . . ”

  “Usually.” “

  Yea. Usually.”

  “So they had to order a long tail boat. Last year there were scores and scores available during high tide. But this time they had to call one from Krabi to come. The idea of traversing that open water in a long tail boat still amazes me. But, they had very little English so I couldn’t find out how they do it or if they were scared.” Candy is quiet suddenly. Then she adds, “They had no shoes, Patty. The father and his sixteen-year-old son had no shoes. I think they would risk the sea to get my money because they . . . had no shoes.”

  My tea doesn’t taste the same and the smell coming from it turns a bit. Then I realize she’s put me there as she has done so many times before. It sneaks up on you, one leaf at a time, until suddenly, after a thick rain, there is a full branch that can be used for sweeping or waving in the wind.

  “The journey was about an hour and the devastation was obvious as we rounded the tip of the island corning toward where the wave came over. It was like a light switch had been flipped and cleared out all the buildings and much vegetation, saving the skinny, tall, durable palm trees that had maybe one or two brown fawns dangling and dead.”

  “Were there any locals still living in those areas?”

  “Nothing moved. No birds. No people. Nothing.”

  “Wow.”

  “Then we cornered another cove and I didn’t even realize it was our destination cove. It was what used to be a town. Where they had a hospital, resorts, shops, boats.”

  “You didn’t even know it was the same place you had been the year before?”

  “No. It had tons of broken and wrecked boats and debris on the land and within the cove’s water, but it looked a lot like the other sparse devastated areas. Then we began to turn in instead of continuing on around. I began to weep because then I knew. Then as we got further into the cove toward the land I could see to the other side of the island, to the water clear on the other side. I knew I didn’t make sense to the man and his boy, but I tried to talk and ask questions and get answers and they just looked with me and we three fell silent as we got closer and closer.