The Earth Is Full (Child of Deliverance Series Book 1)

by B. D. Riehl

  Silk scarves lined the top of booths and swayed in the tropical breezes, beckoning her to run her fingers down the smooth fabric. Wooden carvings from statues of Buddha to elephants, smooth and polished, were lined on shelves. The smell of fried chicken wafted from the open food court, and her mouth watered. Curry and citrus also permeated the air, peppered with stale body odor. Stray dogs, matted and mangy, wandered through the street, begging for food and attention.

  Colors, green, purple, red, blue were everywhere, more vibrant than she’d ever seen. Tents, booths, hats, shirts, boats. The sights were breathtaking. It reminded her of a county fair on steroids.

  Michelle’s contagious laugh bubbled up and spilled over, catching Lydia in a happy glow. Michelle excitedly pointed across the street to a monkey squatted on a street corner watching for someone to drop a morsel of food. It was unreal to be in a place where monkeys crouched and the air pressed in close and the smells spiced the very atmosphere.

  The group of tourists fanned out, speaking with shopkeepers as best they could. Michelle would point at herself with her thumbs. “Miiichelle.”

  Then turn to Lydia. “Lyyydiaaa.” She would then point to the smiling Thai—they were all smiling—and waiting for them to introduce themselves in return. They would usually nod and answer, and the girls would spend the next few minutes twisting their lips in an effort to properly pronounce the name offered. Michelle’s jaw dropped dramatically as she drew out the words. Lydia couldn’t help but snicker at the ridiculous attempts at communication.

  Many booths, introductions, and hand gestures later, Lydia was finished smiling; she was hungry and had a headache. She asked Michelle if she was hungry, and they wove their way through shoppers to the food court. Lydia had heard that culinary hopefuls from across the world came to Thailand to train in special schools. They stood and watched a few cooks quickly assemble noodle dishes, drizzled with coconut milk and curry concoctions.

  Not quite ready to introduce their systems to the exotic choices represented in the different food carts, they instead purchased fresh pineapple and little bananas, as well as bottles of water, small bowls of sticky rice with pieces of fried chicken.

  An area was setup beyond the produce booths, long tables and chairs arranged in sections in front of a makeshift stage. A group of beautiful women were performing a song that sounded vaguely American. Michelle and Lydia found a spot near the stage. After they each took tentative bites of fruit, they both became instantly rejuvenated, animatedly gobbling the remainder of the dishes.

  “This is the juiciest, most delicious pineapple I’ve ever had in my life!” Lydia exclaimed.

  Michelle nodded in agreement and giggled as the sticky juice rolled down her chin. She swiped at her chin with a napkin and mumbled around the bite in her mouth, “Seriously! I could be talked into being a vegetarian if this is what they get to eat. Well, except for bacon. And cheeseburgers. Ooohhh, and bacon cheeseburgers. And the chicken at work. Oh, mama.”

  Lydia cocked an eyebrow at her. The sweet, juicy fruit tingled on her tongue.

  Michelle cocked her brow right back. “What? Okay, so I guess giving up meat isn’t for me. But this is good!”

  After a few minutes of contented silence, Michelle turned bright red and looked down.

  “What’s the matter?” Lydia looked around, but saw nothing unusual.

  “Those beautiful women singing,” Michelle leaned to speak privately.

  Lydia looked to the women but didn’t notice anything unusual. She shrugged questioningly.

  “They’re men,” Michelle hissed, glancing around to be sure no one heard.

  Surprised, Lydia looked closer. Indeed, the beautiful one on the end had an Adam’s apple, bobbing in time to the music. He shook his hips for added measure as another performer took over the song. Lydia took in Michelle’s red face again and burst out laughing. “What’s wrong? Sad that they’re better looking than we could ever be?”

  Michelle, still uncomfortable, shook her head. “I was just so surprised. Here, I am enjoying the music, thinking what lovely women they are…and I noticed something wasn’t right. Oh, my.” The girls chuckled together as they finished their lunch.

  “Shall we go try out our bargaining skills?” Lydia, refreshed, wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

  As they found booths full of discount, knock-off products, Michelle was fascinated by Lydia’s ability to look over something in front of the proprietor, and then feign indifference when the price was mentioned. She was a natural at bargaining. At the first few offers from a seller, Lydia would shake her head knowingly, cool as a cucumber in the sweltering humidity. Michelle watched in fascination as the smiling seller and serious buyer stared silently at one another, communicating with eyes and hands, until Lydia was given the price she wanted.

  It didn’t work at every booth; some refused to bargain, smiling, but firm. Lydia would smile back, and the girls did their best to be respectful. At one booth they saw foot massages, or footies, were offered for only 45 baht. The girls, feet sore and swollen from their long plane flight and days of work and hours of walking, jumped at the chance to enjoy a foot and leg massage.

  Lydia was used to pedicures that included a quick leg rub in a posh setting at an expensive salon in Boise. But the massage in a chair outside a parlor near a busy day market in Thailand was pure heaven. Michelle and Lydia were seated in chairs similar to the ones Lydia had seen in salons. They were handed long rolled pillows, and the petite smiling women in green aprons indicated for them to lean back.

  Lydia closed her eyes as the small woman’s strong fingers knuckled down her calf, rubbed out the tension and swelling in her heels. She relaxed almost instantly. The dissonance of honks and beeps snapped at each other just feet away from the sidewalk. Riders on mopeds conversed as they shifted through the busy streets. The slap slap slap of sandaled feet brought a group of feminine voices closer, louder, then past her. Sounds swirled and circled around her; quick, slow, soft, loud. A distant male’s voice called from down the street. Lydia jumped out of her skin when a deeper voice responded with a shout next to her chair. The men met near her chair and walked away. Their rapid conversation melted into the busyness of the market. There was something ancient and soothing about the Thai language that entranced her.

  The woman at her feet spoke to her friend, and they laughed together. Lydia’s lips curled slightly in self-mockery, her eyes remained closed. Lydia was oddly invigorated by the thick humidity. Behind her closed lids, the sun shone red and bright. Warm. The heavy blanket of warmth and light pressed down upon her, held her close and secure.

  You hem me in, behind and before.

  The words whispered through Lydia’s heart like a soft breeze through the air. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly.

  The small woman was still bent over her feet in concentration; her hair shone blue-black in the sun. Michelle had leaned back, eyes closed and mouth curved in silent appreciation for either the massage or atmosphere or both. Lydia found the street as active and distracted as her ears had indicated. No one looked at her. No one spoke to her.

  She rubbed her arms; she’d heard something, hadn’t she? A whisper so sure it resonated in her heart, if not in her ears. Where had that phrase come from? It sounded so familiar. Her eyes narrowed on the street. Legs and feet, bouncing bags and bike wheels streamed past. Lydia shrugged and relaxed back into her massage.

  Lydia heard a familiar voice.

  “Ah! Ladies of luxury, I see.”

  Annoyed at the slight flip in her stomach at the sound of his voice, Lydia opened her eyes and smiled politely at Kiet. He had Luke with him, and the men asked how long they had been there.

  Michelle shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and answered drowsily, “Not nearly long enough.”

  Kiet spoke to the woman at Lydia’s feet. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand but continued to rub Lydia’s calf.

  Lydia felt self-conscious. What would Kiet think
of her and Michelle paying these women for massages? Would he think she was some snotty American girl that didn’t appreciate the poverty of this country and the last one? Would he be disgusted with her? In her discomfort, Lydia momentarily forgot that Paul was the one that suggested it after the group’s long flight and days of physical labor and walking ahead.

  The women finished the massages, and Lydia was thankful Kiet was there to convey how grateful she was.

  “Hit the spot. Just what we needed,” Lydia said, wishing she could take it back. “Need” was hardly the right word. She saw a glaring difference between “need” and “want” as she noticed the woman’s broken teeth and lopsided smile. Still, there was a grace and beauty to this small Thai woman that made Lydia wish she were a photographer. She wanted to carry her worn beauty with her.

  Luke and Kiet teased the girls about their shopping bags as they walked down the sidewalk.

  “Luke,” Kiet changed his smooth tenor voice to a squeaky alto, “I do believe I forgot to buy that man’s entire supply.”

  He snickered as Luke chimed in, “No, no. We did buy the entire store, we just arranged to have jeweled elephants carry our wares, remember?”

  Michelle and Lydia rolled their eyes at each other, although Lydia felt distracted. She kept thinking about that phrase that had popped into her mind earlier. Or had someone whispered it as they walked by? Why did it affect her so?

  Maybe it was just a song she hadn’t heard in a while. Whatever it was, the cozy feeling infused the stench of darkness that she had become accustomed to with undeniable sweetness. It was strong enough to carry her through the rest of the day. Hours later, new silk scarves, beautiful fans, and other souvenirs tucked safely in their dorm room, the girls embarked on a very different, very sobering market.

  ***

  Lydia hadn’t known what to expect on Walking Street, but the vast array of men, women, nationalities, and social positions caught her off-guard. She saw beautiful women strolling with shopping bags on their arms, elegant and willowy, bejeweled and fashionably dressed. Backpackers, tourists, families, all snapping pictures, some posing with the scantily clad women on display outside of every establishment, people from every walk of life tramped down the wide rocky street.

  Sex sells. The saying was on repeat in her mind. Everywhere Lydia looked, it was confirmed: Sex Sells. And in this market, everywhere in every way, they sold sex. It made her sick.

  Lydia saw homeless people—or at least she assumed they were homeless—digging through trash bins and staring without emotion at the tourists that walked by. Tired, dirty elders, hardened bouncers, beautiful women, all different nationalities, all with the same hollow, sunken gaze huddled together. She could not believe how casual the women looked, standing there, selling their own bodies against their will.

  Paul had told them that the underage girls were hidden in back; a dirty little secret, although everyone knew of their presence. All one had to do to obtain a few hours with an innocent, helpless child was walk up to the proprietor of an establishment and ask quietly if younger girls were available. For forty American dollars one was quickly made available.

  Lydia watched each brothel front carefully, wondering if she would see such an interaction. She saw many, many attractive women arm and arm with men of all varieties: businessmen, college students. Mostly the men were older, overweight, and so plain she never would have considered them at all. The men were as different as the nations they represented. The women were the same: available for a price.

  The air was putrid. Lydia couldn’t put her finger on the stench. Rubbish Mountain in Cambodia had been filthy and vile. She’d spent much of those days breathing through her mouth. But here it wasn’t sewage or trash rotting in the street. The smell was darker than that. Although cheap perfume wafted through the street, and stale body odor permeated the air, there was an underlying blackness that filled the senses. The sight of so many women on display, and so many fools following after them, tongues hanging out of their mouths, was sickening. She felt heavy, so very heavy, beneath the black humidity. She choked on the smell of depravity.

  Michelle’s face was pinched. She could obviously smell it too. Her infectious laugh gone; silent tears stained her cheeks. Most of these women were here against their will. Many had been kidnapped from their homes, or sold by their own families. Tricked or stolen and now paraded as a product and sold for a week’s worth of Lydia’s wages. Wages she spent on clothes or coffee and many other frivolous things. Her life glared before her; empty, vain—wasted in her abundance of privilege.

  She grabbed Michelle’s hand. For the first time on this trip, Lydia understood why her parents had wanted her to come. How desperate they had been for her to know how good her life was. She took a deep breath, comforted that in just over a week she would be home in her small city. Safe.

  Before they ended their tour, Patsy gathered the group together and asked Mike to lead them in prayer. Lydia was mortified as they stood hand in hand in a wide circle, listening as Mike prayed that God would cast the evil out of this place; that He would make a way for all the women held captive to escape, and that those involved in the sex trafficking industry would be brought to justice; that all would know the love of Christ and experience His grace.

  Lydia, unable to bow her head, looked around. Passersby scoffed at them, or stepped around them, annoyed at the large group in the middle of the street. Her eyes, again, scanned the line of young women—most her own age—anxious to absorb the horrific reality before they moved on. She didn’t want to forget.

  Her eyes narrowed on one girl in particular. She had long brown hair with blond highlights. Her black boots were skintight and stopped mid-thigh. She wore very tight, very short black shorts and a willowy black shirt with one shoulder drooped low to reveal a leopard print bra. Lydia felt hot and cold at once as Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind… “Dee Dee, if you want people to stop believing you’re for sale, quit putting such a cheap price on yourself.”

  The girl wore an outfit that Lydia owned. In fact, it was one of her favorites.

  ***

  Luke hadn’t come with the group, and when Lydia asked Michelle why, her new friend just shook her head. “Not my story to share.”

  After the tour the group gathered at the fire pit on Deliverance’s campus for praise and communion. A large tuk tuk could not be located and the group, two at a time, fanned out on taxi mopeds. Michelle and Lydia climbed silently behind a young, smiling Thai man, neither able to absorb the shock of Walking Street.

  They were first to arrive at the fire. Luke was already there, tuning his guitar next to a small communion table. Lydia and Michelle sat next to each other on a long log near the fire. Neither had spoken much since Walking Street, both lost in their own thoughts, both wanting to be near someone they knew, both horrified at reality.

  Lydia’s eyes had been ripped wide open: the way she dressed, her flirtatious behavior, her looseness with the opposite sex; all of it crashed down upon her like the white-hot coals in the base of the fire.

  She watched the coals dim and glow, writhing, curling. Taunting.

  “She is such a slut!”

  Another bonfire from years ago came to mind.…

  The first week of the school year at Central Valley for the high school students was spent at Sweet Water Ranch in the mountains. The students enjoyed games, a zip line, horseback rides, water sports on the small lake, along with bonfires, and fellowship.

  Lydia was entering the 10th grade when her parents took her from the local school she attended and placed her in Central Valley. She had been apprehensive about the switch; she was comfortable in her school with her friends. She didn’t like the idea of starting at a new high school where she didn’t know anyone. Her parents assured her that Central Valley would better prepare her for college, and as for friends, she would make new ones quickly. Lydia knew her mom and dad liked the prestige that would accompany their daughter’s attendance at a private
school.

  At the time it bothered her that they cared about image, but she played along. As her friends became more interested in guys and the things required of them to keep popular guys, Lydia began to look forward to a change. She still wasn’t certain about the Lord. Her eyes were open, her heart stirred, but cautious. Her parents had always taken her to church, and Lydia knew that the themes taught from the pulpit and Scripture was lifeblood to Charlotte.

  But her parents never really talked about God or the Bible at home. She had blithely believed that to be Christian was simply the American way. Her sister believed that to be Christian was life: to follow Jesus, to love, to offer forgiveness as it had been given. Charlotte took every word of Scripture as truth.

  And, though she’d be hard-pressed to admit it, Lydia had always carried deep admiration for her older sister. But the friends she had at school and certain things her teachers said made her wonder if it wasn’t all a fairytale. She wondered how die-hard Bible fans could really understand what they were reading or apply it to everything. Should harlots really be stoned? Should she believe the Creation Theory? Her parents didn’t deny Christ, nor did they really embrace Him, at least not openly. She had been surprised when they announced she would start Christian school but had hoped to find the answers to her questions.

  As her mother drove her to meet the buses for camp that warm August morning, she was a flurry of emotions. On the one hand, Lydia was excited about the first week of camp. She loved the outdoors and appreciated the opportunity to make friends before school started. On the other, she felt nervous about attending camp with a bunch of kids she didn’t know.

  Her mother had smiled at her as they stopped at a red light and reached a hand to still her jittery knee. “Sweetie, it will be great. You’ll see.”

  “I just…what if it isn’t, Mom? What if I don’t make any friends? Then I’m stuck in the mountains by myself for four days.”

  “Honey, they’ll love you. And I think I already helped you out in the popularity department,” she winked.