by John Shors
“Sure.”
“It’s a long one.”
“I like your long ones.”
“A young turtle was at the bottom of a tall tree. He was tired. So tired. But he took a deep breath and started to climb. About an hour later, he reached a high branch and crawled along to the end. He turned and spread all four flippers and jumped off the branch.” Suchin paused, pretending to be a leaping turtle. “After landing at the bottom in a pile of soft sand, he shook himself off, crawled back to the bottom of the tree, took another deep breath, and started to climb. Watching him from the end of another branch were a mother and father bird. The mother bird then turned to the father bird and whispered, ‘Maybe it’s time we told him that he’s adopted.’ ”
Patch laughed with the children, having heard many of Suchin’s jokes, and always happy to do so. He complimented her, glancing across the bay. The sun had just set, and the water was awash with color. “How about a quick swim right now? Want to ask your mother?”
Niran hurried from the table. Suchin took Patch’s cigarette and stubbed it out on her plate. “Don’t let my mother see you with that. Even though you’re my American brother, she’d still be angry at you. And believe me, you’d rather have a hive of bees angry at you.”
“I believe you.”
Suchin picked apart the cigarette butt, then put the remnants on her plate and covered them with some sweet-and-sour sauce. She took Patch’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Let’s see what she told Niran. I hope she said yes.”
“Me too, Suchin. Me too.”
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19
separate ways
Though it was only midmorning, heat and humidity seemed to rise from the bay as if it were a giant pot of simmering water. The tide was out, revealing a four- or five-city-blocksize expanse of wet sand and a collection of small pools. The water in the bay was so shallow that the tide dramatically changed the look and feel of the beach. When the tide was in, the white sand met the turquoise water in a long curving line, creating an image of a crescent moon against a blue sky. When the tide was out, the beach was much less defined, stretching westward into the damp remnants of the sea’s retreat.
The sky was bereft of a single cloud, and the tropical sun gave life to the colors of the island—the green of the foliage, the gray of the cliffs, the gold of the beach, and the blue of the bay. A breeze wafted from the west, causing the coconut trees to sway like cobras in front of a charmer’s flute. The scent of tropical flowers and salt permeated the damp air.
Most of the beach was empty, the long line of wooden lounge chairs almost devoid of tourists. They would arrive soon, Lek knew, wondering why Sarai had called out to him to come to one of their bungalows. He looked toward the water and saw his children making their way along the shore, picking up small bits of trash. Suchin carried Achara in a sling on her back. Niran held a bucket for the trash and his beloved net, and often stepped into the water, watching the movements of sea creatures. Smiling at the sight, Lek limped along the sandy trail between the bungalows, pleased that Patch was laying bricks in the distance. A paved path would be a major improvement, as monsoon rains often left the existing trail waterlogged for days. Lek had been forced to sell one of his two longboats to pay for the bricks, but he felt sure the investment would be worthwhile. Two boats had been an extravagance anyway.
He turned right, toward one of their best bungalows, moving up three cement steps and into the room. Within seconds he could tell that something was wrong. Sarai sat motionless on the side of the bed, her feet bare, her shoulders slumped. She wore a bright red sarong and a yellow blouse, but her face seemed drained of color. He sat down beside her, resting his hand on her thigh, waiting for her to speak.
She pulled back the sheet, revealing a burned section of fabric. Somehow the sheet had been set afire, then doused with water. A fist-size hole remained, black and brown at the edges. “I should have looked closer,” Sarai said softly. “Right when they left. I always do, but this morning Suchin wanted to . . . she wanted me to braid her hair. So I hurried in here, looked around, then went home.”
Lek nodded, aware that the British couple who had occupied the bungalow would by now be on the morning ferry, heading back to Phuket. He and Sarai always inspected their bungalows before their visitors left the island. That way, if there was any damage, compensation could be procured before the foreigners sailed away forever. “It’s not your fault,” he said softly, patting her knee again.
She shook her head, her full lips pressing together, her fists clenching. “It is my fault. Of course it is. I should have seen this right away. Do you know how much a new sheet costs?”
“I don’t—”
“Three hundred baht! What a waste. Three hundred baht for a sheet we already had. A good sheet, with hardly any wear.”
“We’ll manage.”
“How? How can you look at me and say that? Our money is almost gone. We can’t afford to buy the children new clothes or for you to see the doctor. How is that managing? How do we work so hard, every day, and have nothing to show for it? What are we doing wrong?”
He reached for her hand as she started to cry. “Let me rub your feet.”
“No.”
“Please. Lie down. Let me rub your feet.”
“Rubbing my feet isn’t going to buy a new sheet.”
“It might—”
“What are we going to do? The children are so happy. I don’t want to take them to Bangkok. How would you even find work with your hip? No one would hire you. We’d have nothing. Do you hear me? We’d have nothing.”
“We’d have each other.”
She wiped her eyes, wishing that her headache would leave, chastising herself for once again forgetting to eat and drink. “Later, when we’re old, that would be fine. But not now. Not with the children. They need more.”
Lek started to reply but heard someone approaching. Sarai wiped her eyes again, and reached for her old-fashioned straw broom. She started to sweep, pausing when Patch walked up the steps. In some ways, Patch resembled Lek, wearing old shorts, a tattered T-shirt, and sandals.
Patch said good morning in Thai, then switched to English. “I wanted to ask you about the path.”
Concentrating, Lek forced himself to think in English, a language he had long tried and failed to master. “The path?” he repeated, wondering if his instructions might not have been clear.
“Well, I was hoping that maybe I could change the pattern in the middle. You know, try to make a rainbow with the bricks. So that people would know that they were on their way to Rainbow Resort.”
Sarai nodded, repeating Patch’s words in Thai, then responding in English. “Could you make a brick rainbow?”
“I think so. I could go into the village, where they’re building that new hotel, and use one of their saws to cut some of our bricks. Or I could buy a few bricks that were a different color, and cut them so they fit together and made a rainbow. It would be easy.”
Thinking about a rainbow in the middle of their path prompted another tear to tumble from Sarai’s face. She smiled, wiping it away. “Thank you, Patch. Yes, please. Your idea is good.”
Patch realized that she had been crying and dropped his gaze. For the first time he noticed the hole in the sheet. “What happened?”
“Oh, it is nothing. Just time . . . time to buy a new sheet.”
“What a waste.”
“Yes.”
Patch started to turn away but deduced that the sight of the ruined sheet must have made her cry. “I’ll take it,” he said. “I have a good sheet in my room. I don’t need it. You can take mine and use it in here.”
“No. You keep your sheet. We will take this sheet for our bed.”
He shook his head. “Achara can’t sleep on this sheet. No way. That’s not right for a baby.”
“You are our guest,” Sarai replied. “You must sleep well.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll sleep fine.”
“You sure?”
>
“Of course.”
“I will fix it for you. With a . . .”
“With a patch. You can fix it with a patch.”
She smiled. “Yes. I will fix it with a patch. A patch for Patch.”
“Perfect. How could that not be perfect for me?”
“Thank you,” she replied, wondering what his mother was like. “Thank you so much. You have a good heart.”
“Thank you for letting me make my rainbow.”
“Your brother, he will arrive later today?”
“Yeah.”
“I will cook something good for him. Something delicious.”
“I’m sure he’d enjoy that after his long trip.”
She thanked him again and then began to speak in Thai, repeating everything to Lek, making sure he understood. Lek listened, turned to Patch, and placed his hands together, bowing slightly. He thanked Patch in Thai, wishing he could communicate better with the American, wanting to talk with him about so many things.
After Patch left, Lek turned to Sarai. “See? We’ll manage. We’ll always manage.”
“We have to.”
“Come. Lie down. Give me five minutes to rub those busy feet of yours. Please. Feet that move so fast deserve to be rubbed.”
“What about your hip? Shouldn’t I be rubbing it?”
“It’s fine.”
Sarai smiled, and Lek was relieved to see her laugh lines deepen. She closed the bungalow’s door, stretched out on the bed, and his hands found her ankles, pressing against her flesh, resting at first. Then his fingers began to move—hard, calloused fingers that swept across the hard, thick skin of her heels. She closed her eyes and let him carry her away to a place free of doubt and worry, where his hip didn’t hurt, where their children didn’t have to sell soft drinks, where the strength of their family wasn’t tested on a daily basis. Sarai let him take her to this place, and for five minutes she swam within its waters.
Then she squeezed his hand, thanked him, and reached for her broom.
THE CEMENT PIER IN PHUKET looked big enough to accommodate a warship, Ryan thought as he wheeled his suitcase toward a waiting speedboat. In the distance, scores of travelers were boarding a large blue-and-white passenger ferry. The travelers—often wearing nothing more than swimsuits—carried backpacks, beer, and guidebooks. Though distant engines purred and rumbled, it was the intonations of a dozen languages that permeated the air.
A few feet behind Ryan, Brooke hurried to catch up, amazed that they could fly from Bangkok to such a beautiful place in just over an hour. “We should go on a boat like that,” she said. She was dressed in a white tank top and denim shorts, her long hair emerging from the back of her pink Race for the Cure baseball hat. “It seems like a better fit for this sort of journey.”
“Why? So we can get to Ko Phi Phi in three hours instead of forty minutes?”
Brooke saw a couple kissing toward the rear of the line. “It might be fun.”
“It might be.”
“Look at it. Doesn’t it look fun? Why so reluctant?”
“Because it might be boring too.”
“How could a ride on that possibly be boring?”
Ryan watched fishermen working on a nearby boat, which was brightly colored and featured giant booms that held hundreds of lightbulbs. The fishermen were shirtless and moved fast, uncoiling a spool of netting. Behind the fishing boat was a gray-hulled military vessel of some sort, listing slightly to one side. From atop the wheelhouse, the red, white, and blue flag of Thailand rippled in the wind. No one appeared to be on board.
“We’ve traveled halfway around the world to see Patch,” Ryan finally replied. “And we’re forty minutes from him. Forty minutes. Why would we want to make that three hours?”
Glancing at the kissing couple, Brooke followed Ryan toward the large speedboat that he’d rented through a travel agency. A Thai man, presumably the captain, approached and asked in broken English for their contract. Ryan had the papers ready, and within ten minutes he and Brooke were sitting near the middle of the boat, a pair of large outboard engines powering the craft past the idle ferry. Most of the backpackers were gathering on the roof, putting their feet over the edge, leaning forward against a white railing.
Though Brooke was envious of their slow, adventurous ride, she reminded herself that of course Ryan wanted to reach Patch as quickly as possible. Leaning back in her bucket seat, she watched the mountainous, immense island of Phuket slowly recede. Once they were clear of the harbor, the captain pushed the throttle down and the twin engines roared to life. The bow rose, casting spray out on either side. Brooke took off her baseball cap and oversize tortoiseshell sunglasses, thinking about the couple who had kissed so openly. Given her history, she wasn’t sure whether she’d ever kiss a man in public. But she found herself wondering what it would be like, wondering how the couple had met and what the future held for them. A part of her was envious of their connection, and she asked herself whether she’d trade places with the woman, suspecting that she would.
In her second year of business school at Northwestern University, Brooke was about the same age as most of the other travelers. Yet she felt so much older. Restless with such thoughts, she turned toward Ryan, wondering where his mind was. “Is Patch like you?” she asked, the boat humming beneath her.
He swiveled his seat toward her. “He looks like me.”
“Really?”
“Growing up, people thought we were twins.” Ryan paused, his fingers tracing the contours of a crack in the leather chair. “We had fun with that. He had fun with it, especially. But I did too.”
“What did you do?”
“Oh, we’d confuse our babysitters, our dentists. Stuff like that. Later, in high school, we’d switch football jerseys, and he’d get to play a down or two with the varsity. He got thumped, but he got to play.”
Brooke smiled, moving to the side so that her wind-whipped hair didn’t obscure her view. “Did he act like you? Like another kingpin in the making?”
Ryan thought about growing up in Kansas City, about growing up with Patch. Their father had worked long hours as an elementary school principal. Their mother was diagnosed with lupus at age thirty-one and had often been bedridden. With their father usually gone and their mother sometimes nearly incapacitated, Ryan and Patch had grown up relying on each other. They’d been inseparable and best friends. And though years had passed since they had slept under the same roof, they’d always remained close, calling each other in times of need, sharing stories and secrets.
“Patch was always more of a dreamer,” Ryan finally replied. “I got the good grades. I liked school. I think the whole thing bored him. He read all the time. Day and night. Just not the books that his teachers wanted him to.”
“Did he have girlfriends?”
Ryan nodded. “Patch is good at making girls smile, making them laugh. Much better than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself sh—”
“It’s okay. I know what I can do and what I can’t do.”
“What did you do in high school? What did he do?”
“In high school? I was the star athlete, the perfect student. I worked really hard . . . but I wasn’t really happy. On the other hand, Patch hardly worked at all but was happy. He got the girls. He was the cool brother. I’d tag along with him and his girlfriends and feel like the biggest loser on the planet.”
“You couldn’t be farther from a loser. And you can make women laugh. You’ve made me laugh.”
“I’d like to make you laugh more.”
She studied his face, wondering whether she could kiss him in public. “I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why . . . why have we never said the word love to each other? We’re here in Thailand. We’ve traveled so far together and we have a history together. But there’s a lot we’ve never said. And that makes me wonder . . . about us.”
He turned slightly away from her. “People use that word .
. . those four letters . . . way too easily.”
“Have you ever used it?”
“No. Not like that.”
“But could you? Someday? Can you imagine using it with me?”
“I don’t know. Really, I’d rather focus on Patch right now than talk about us.”
“You sound like a politician, evading my question, acting obtuse.”
Ryan turned back toward her, reaching for her hands. “I look after you. I care about you.”
“I don’t want to be looked after.”
“Sorry. That came out wrong. That was . . . condescending. But I want to help. It’s what—”
“Is it because of what happened to me?” she asked, her voice speeding up, moving like the boat. “Because I have baggage?”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Everyone has baggage.”
“You don’t.”
“Can you just be patient? Please?”
“Patient? You’re about the most impatient person I’ve ever met. You’ve got the fastest computer, the fastest feet, the fastest boat.” You’re even impatient in bed, she thought, though she would never say such a thing.
He sighed, removing his sunglasses. “Let’s save my brother, all right? Can we do that? Let’s do that and then worry about four-letter words.”
Flying fish started to leap near the bow of the boat, hopping across the water like skipping stones. Brooke watched them, sitting straighter in her chair, aware that she was acting self-indulgent and chastising herself for it. “There’s nothing more important than your brother,” she said. “Not even overused four-letter words.”
“That’s right.”
“But how are we going to save him? Really, if he doesn’t want to turn himself in, how are you going to help him?”
Ryan put his sunglasses back on, admiring the speed of the flying fish. “He doesn’t have a choice. We just have to make him realize that. The sooner he turns himself in, the sooner he can get on with his life.”
“And a Thai jail should be a part of his life?”
“It’ll have to be. Because there’s no other choice.”