When she drifted up from sleep again, the sounds were not distant and indistinct but, rather, were voices close by. She recognized the unique accent of the man who had brought her here. He was with the women now; both were speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but she felt less foggy, more alert, and she assumed they must be speaking in English. She had heard it spoken plenty of times in the karaoke, but she never had learned many words beyond, “Do you like this?” She didn’t think that would help her much now and regretted not trying to learn more. She listened intently to the tone. They didn’t seem angry.
The memory of how she had gotten into the warm bed had blurred. The images of a car, stairs, and the bath were a kaleidoscope of memories. Who were these people, and why had they captured her? The fear she had lost while she was semiconscious slammed back into her chest and squeezed. What should she do? She looked around for an escape and saw a window.
Simone
Earlier
After Chai had fled back out the door, promising to return as soon as possible, Simone allowed her eyes to take in Suda more thoroughly. It seemed that every rib was showing through her threadbare, filthy tee-shirt. Her arms look like sticks, Simone thought when she saw the young woman’s elbow joint jutting out too visibly under the skin. Tears threatened to slip down Simone’s cheeks as she thought about how hungry she must have been. Her bruises were in various stages of vivid purple, red, and faded yellow. Her eyelids looked paper-thin and—Simone hesitated, standing over her. The fact that she was not actually conscious came with its own concerns.
Simone’s hand reached out to touch her, but she pulled back, hesitating. She didn’t want her to feel further violated by a stranger touching her. She bit the nail of her index finger, contemplating the next move. She was loath to call for medical help because the look on Chai’s face had been clear. He was deeply undercover and couldn’t risk this young woman being discovered. She sighed, making the decision to honor that to the best of her abilities, but she also wasn’t about to deprive her of medical care if it was needed. If she thought she required a doctor, Simone would take her and worry about the consequences for the cop later. He could take care of himself.
Her initial thoughts were dehydration and malnourishment, so she did what people throughout the ages and across the continents have done: made chicken broth. In her case, it involved opening a can and pouring the nourishing golden liquid into a saucepan. While it heated, she picked up her phone and called Grace. The two had been inseparable since Simone had sat beside her on the steps outside the BART station those many years ago. That morning, Simone had carried two lattes in her hands. One she had sipped; the other she had held out to the straggly young woman. Simone’s first success story.
Grace was on her doorstep before Simone hit the button to end the call.
“What’s going on?” Grace threw open the door without knocking, saw Simone kneeling next to her couch, and gagged. Throwing her arm across her face to block her nose, Grace moved next to Simone and looked at Suda. “What the hell, Simone?”
“I hardly know what’s happening myself.” She recounted their customer-police officer unceremoniously arriving on her doorstep and leaving her with this young woman.
“He said he’s undercover,” Simone emphasized at the end of her explanation.
“Do you believe him?” Grace asked.
Simone shrugged. “It seemed legit.”
They both looked at Suda.
Simone went to the kitchen, picked up the warmed broth and poured it into a bowl, snatched a spoon from the drawer and knelt beside Suda. She gently raised her head and attempted to spoon the warm liquid into her mouth. Some dripped down Suda’s chin, but some stayed in.
“She does seem to be eating the broth.” Grace looked encouraged.
“Yeah, I think so.” Simone nodded and spooned in a few more mouthfuls.
“Let’s try giving her some water.” Grace went to the cupboard, filled a glass and brought it over. She handed it to Simone who tilted it to the woman’s lips.
“I think she’s drinking it!” Grace said, avidly watching Suda swallow little sips.
“Thank you for not thinking I’m insane for believing him,” Simone looked from Suda’s face to Grace’s.
“I do actually think you’re a little bit insane,” Grace smiled. “But that’s been the case since long before this,” she gestured toward Suda lying inert. “You know I would never leave you to deal with this on your own after what you’ve done for me.”
Simone met her eyes, remembering the tentative, nervous smile Grace had given her when Simone handed the latte to her the day they met.
“At least I didn’t smell this bad.”
“That’s true, for sure. We’ll be even after this.”
Grace laughed, “We don’t need to worry about even. For now, let’s get this girl in the bath because I can’t stand one more second of the smell.”
“Good plan,” but Simone hesitated, frowning. “It does seem like a suspicious coincidence that he’s Thai though; right?”
“I was thinking the same thing. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt that he’s on the right side of this for now, but …”
“Exactly. Let’s be cautious.”
The tub was mostly full when—Simone’s hands under Suda’s armpits and Grace’s at her feet—they maneuvered her to the bathroom floor and removed her filthy clothing, exposing her bone-thin, bruised body.
“My God,” Simone whispered.
“It can’t be easy to cross the ocean in a shipping container. Even so, some of these bruises are old.”
“What can her life have been like to end up in this situation?”
“I can only imagine,” Grace whispered. She supported Suda’s back while Simone gently sudsed up her hair. “She seems peaceful for the moment.”
“Let’s try to keep it that way.” Simone paused, thinking, then looked from Suda to meet Grace’s eyes. “We have a spare room right now.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Grace agreed. “If possible, let’s keep her here where she’s safe.”
“She must be illegal,” Simone said, wringing out her hair while trying not to tug too hard on the long black strands.
Grace guffawed. “You think?” she said.
“Oh, shut up and help me get her out of the bath,” Simone said, acknowledging the ridiculousness of her statement. Of course she was illegal.
They slipped her into Simone’s flannel pajamas even though they were way too large for Suda and tucked her into Simone’s bed.
“Let’s air the place out,” Grace swung open the bathroom window.
“For sure.” Simone went to the kitchen and cranked that window open as well. She could see the fog rolling in with wispy white tendrils and brisk, damp air refreshed the room, bringing with it the smell of eucalyptus from the grove of trees in nearby Golden Gate Park.
“Ah, better,” she said, washing her hands and reaching for a sweater to ward off the chill in the apartment. “I think this situation calls for tea. Want a cup?” she asked Grace while she filled the kettle and lit the gas burner.
They had just sat down with big ceramic mugs of decaf Earl Grey tea when Chai knocked softly on the door. Simone let him in, and he looked around, confused because Suda was nowhere in sight.
“She’s in my bed,” Simone said softly, before he had a chance to ask. “This is Grace,” she nodded toward her friend.
“Chai,” he put out his hand and shook hers.
“Tea?” Simone asked, gesturing to her mug.
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
“Sit,” Simone told him. “I’ll bring you some. You look wiped out.”
Chai gratefully accepted her offer. He was wiped out. After dropping Suda at the Hope House, he’d then returned to the dock, expressing shock and
confusion at the empty container. He just hoped he had pulled it off without arousing suspicion.
“So, a smuggling ring?” Grace asked, sitting across from him and leaning her elbows on her knees, teacup in hands.
“Yes. Thai. We got wind of it, and they assigned me to it because I’m half Thai and speak the language. My father is from the same hill tribe as Suda,” he nodded to the back bedroom. “She’s undocumented. Never had papers, which makes people more vulnerable because, to the government, they don’t exist.” He paused at their perplexed faces. “It happens all the time, unfortunately.”
“I’m confused,” Grace said. “What do you mean?”
“It means that they never recorded her birth. She has no birth certificate, no passport—no legal documentation at all.”
“Do you think she paid to be smuggled here?”
“Absolutely not. She’s being trafficked.”
“But you got to her.”
“I did,” Chai smiled for the first time since he’d walked in, and it lit up his face. The lines around his eyes etched deep groves in his otherwise smooth skin.
Simone returned, holding out a gray ceramic mug of tea to him.
“You don’t look like a cop,” Grace said.
“Sometimes I do. It depends. When I’m all dressed up and shiny, then I do. But usually I’m in plain clothes, and when I’m undercover, I let myself look a little rough around the edges.” He ran his empty hand through his unkempt black hair.
“How do you know she’s from your father’s hill tribe?” Simone asked.
“That I can’t tell you, but suffice it to say that I do. So, I felt an extra connection. Not that I wouldn’t have tried to get to her either way, but …”
“You were extra determined,” Simone finished his thought.
“I was,” he paused. “Do you mind if I check on her?”
“Of course not. Please do,” Simone said. “She’s right down the hall.” She followed behind him to make sure all was well.
Suda
Bootsteps; heavy that made no attempt to be quiet.
She was suddenly, jarringly awake and heard a man approaching the room. She froze, paralyzed for an instant and then leapt up with the realization that her only chance to escape might be now. Her eyes flitted around the room, attempting to quickly get her bearings. She had no recollection of how she had gotten there. It was dark, but the plentiful ambient light made seeing her surroundings fairly easy. Her bare feet stealthily crept to the window and slid the sash up as quickly and quietly as possible. She thrust her head out, looked down, and … Her stomach dropped with the realization that she was on the third floor; a cement sidewalk ran directly below and there was nothing to break the fall.
Her terrorized mind thought she should jump anyway, and she threw one of her legs over the sash.
“Stop!” Chai—panicked—yelled in Thai. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Suda turned back to look at him, her features frozen in fear. Her eyes were not just terrified but they were also deeply sad. Her expression betrayed her. She didn’t want her life to end, but staying a slave was more unbearable than the unknown finality that comes with death.
“It’s okay,” he spoke more softly this time. “This is a safe house. You’re safe here. I got you out of the container before they could get to you.”
Suda looked back and forth between Simone and Chai, not sure whether to believe him. Simone nodded encouragement, although she hadn’t understood a word of what was being said.
“I’m police,” Chai explained in Thai, but he knew that for trafficked women that didn’t always mean safety. “You’re in San Francisco—the United States—and you’re safe now,” he said, using the word safe again, trying to talk her back into the room. “Come inside,” he encouraged her to stop straddling the window. “It’s too far to jump.”
Suda glanced down, again taking in the cement walkway below and quickly calculating what hitting it from the distance she was above would do to her already compromised body. At least it would be over.
“I’m glad to see that you’re awake,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Are you hungry?” He kept up a stream of soothing conversation in an attempt to assuage her fears.
She was starving. She looked out the window once more and then brought her leg back inside.
“Do you have anything that resembles Thai food?” Chai, switching to English, turned and asked Simone.
“I think I have some rice and vegetables.”
“How about some rice and tea?” Chai asked Suda, switching back to Thai.
“No rice,” Suda responded. She was starved, but she knew the scent of Thai food would bring back the nausea and pain of the brothel.
“Eggs?” Chai suggested.
Suda hesitated and then slowly nodded.
“How about some eggs?” he asked Simone, switching back to English.
“Sure. How should I make them? Scrambled?”
“Fried, please. Sunny-side up, medium,” he said.
“Done,” she said, letting out the breath she had been holding while Suda straddled the window.
Suda’s teeth began to chatter, and Simone realized how cold her apartment had become. She crossed the room and closed the window. Then, grabbing a throw off of her bed, she gently wrapped Suda in it and led her toward the living room.
The room was small and a bit spare, with waxed wooden floors that appeared to have seen a century of wear, a shelf of books and pieces of celadon pottery, and an airy gray
linen-covered couch that looked like it was the most comfortable thing Suda had ever set eyes upon. Adjoining the living room was a kitchen that appeared to fit only one person at a time but beckoned intriguingly. A pitcher of flowers and a bowl of green apples caught her eye, and she could see mugs—some white and some light gray—with saucers. The thought of a warm, milky tea or, even better, more chicken stock made her salivate.
“Come on,” Simone saw Suda eye the couch with longing and steered her in that direction. She spoke soothingly in English and smiled at her to show her that she was friendly. She took her hand and led her to the couch with the blanket still wrapped around her and left her with Grace and Chai while she stepped into the kitchen to fry some eggs.
“Can you tell me what happened to you?” Chai coaxed in Thai, but Suda only shook her head.
“It’s all right,” he assured her. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Tell her that this is a safe house and that other women live here who have also been sex trafficked.” Grace paused. “Including me.” She gestured to herself.
Grace was an anomaly among women who had experienced sexual trauma. Most retreated into themselves, talking about it to only a few trusted people, if anyone. But not Grace. For her, talking about what had happened to her was a gift she gave to others who had gone through the same. She hoped it helped them not feel isolated and ashamed.
Chai looked over at Simone, who nodded her head, and then he began explaining in Thai.
Suda’s eyes found Grace’s eyes.
Simone brought the plate of eggs and handed them along with tea to Suda. Then she turned to Chai, “Tell her we’ll introduce her to the other girls when she’s ready, but for now she should just rest and eat.” Simone paused and considered. “And either you’re going to have to spend a lot of time here, or we’re going to need someone trusted who can come here and translate.”
Chai turned back to Suda and explained the situation.
“I’ll figure it out,” he told them. “I’ll see if my sister can come back with me tomorrow to help with the language issue. If not, we can find someone.”
Simone raised an eyebrow. Hours ago she didn’t even know this guy, and now she was supposed to trust not only him but some other person as well? She didn’t feel comfortable with the thought and turned to Gra
ce whose face looked as skeptical as Simone felt.
“What can you tell us about your sister?” Simone asked.
“She’s safe. I promise. She can be trusted. I’ll bring her in the morning, and you can decide for yourself whether you’re comfortable.”
Grace and Simone looked at each other again, and then they both nodded after a fleeting nonverbal conversation.
Chai exhaled and stood up to leave. He was exhausted, and it was late. He guessed that, all adrenalin from the situation aside, Grace and Simone were probably exhausted, too.
“Good,” he nodded. “In the meantime, don’t touch her unless she touches you first and never touch her head. To Thai people, the head is sacred and not to be touched by others.”
Simone put her hand to her mouth, “I washed her hair,” she said with panic in her voice.
“Don’t worry about it. There were extenuating circumstances. Oh, and don’t sit with the soles of your shoes showing and don’t sit with your legs crossed for now because you’ll probably accidentally point the toe of your shoe toward her and that’s extremely rude in the Thai culture.”
“Got it: watch the feet, watch the head.”
“Exactly,” he smiled. “See you in the morning.”
Across the Deep Page 5