by John Shors
Ryan shook his head, saddened by the thought that she wanted to go back to school, but never would. He knew that she was bright and eager. How must she feel giving massages to rich tourists, day after day, listening to their stories, seeing the thickness of their wallets? “You’re still young,” he finally replied. “You could still go to school.”
“Impossible. For me, anyway. But please, do not worry your big head, King Kong. I am fine. Am happy. And if my brothers or sister go to university, then I even more happy.”
A Thai man untied a nearby longboat, started the engine, and backed it out into the azure waters. The familiar and repetitive cough of the two-stroke engine filled the air.
“I . . . I came today because I wanted to thank you,” Ryan said.
“Thank me? For massage? It great massage, I know. But you not need to thank me twice.”
“That’s not what I wanted to thank you for.”
“What?”
“It’s just . . . you make me laugh. And you . . . appreciate me for who I am.”
“What you mean?”
Ryan scratched at a mosquito bite on his arm. “Most women . . . they don’t seem to understand me. I annoy them, I think.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I . . . I worry too much about what I want to do.”
She pushed her hair aside, so that it lay on the shoulder that was farthest from him. “What you want to do?”
“Study. Exercise.” He smiled. “And get massages from girls on Ko Phi Phi.”
“Girls!”
“I mean, from one girl on Ko Phi Phi. A beautiful girl named Dao.”
“That better. Much better.”
“But I’m the opposite from you. You work for everyone else. I just work for myself.”
“But someday, when you have good job, you can take care of your wife, your children. So you not only work for you, but for them.”
“You think so?”
She nodded. “Of course I think so. Your wife will be lucky woman. Same, same for your children.”
He resisted a sudden urge to touch her bare shoulder, which glistened in the sun. “You see? That’s why I wanted to thank you.”
A breeze stirred her hair. She smiled. “You are welcome, my big gorilla.”
Watching her grin, Ryan thought about the differences between them. Their histories were as varied as water and sand. And yet, they were also connected. She saw him for who he was, and though he had spent very little time with her, he wanted to spend more. He wanted to watch her sit on the beach, to listen to her laugh, to somehow, someday help her as she had helped him.
His eyes found the place where the water and the sand met. He watched this place, saw how little waves tugged at the sand, pulling and pushing it, bringing movement to what had once known stillness, changing patterns that had seemed so permanent.
He looked up again, smiling as she chided him for not listening, then laughing as she picked up a strand of seaweed and threw it at him.
THE DAY HAD BEEN PRODUCTIVE and somewhat celebratory for Patch. He’d finished his path a few hours after breakfast, positioning the last brick into place and then inspecting the entire project, making sure that nothing had shifted or loosened. The path was better than he could have imagined, strong and eye-catching. He knew that it was a significant upgrade from the sandy trail that people had previously used and that it might draw more customers in Lek and Sarai’s direction, which pleased him.
After finishing the path, Patch had worked on the tree house, nailing a thick piece of plywood on top of the support beams. He then added railings to every side of the structure, leaving an opening by the ladder. Decorations came next, pieces of coral that he’d found on the beach soon gracing nearby branches. He also painted the top of the plywood, re-creating what Ko Phi Phi looked like from above. He’d seen such pictures in guidebooks, and it wasn’t hard to paint the butterfly-shaped island surrounded by the turquoise sea.
Lek had walked to the tree house and slowly climbed up the ladder. He had sought out Patch to thank him for the path, but was equally pleased with the tree house. Both Lek and Patch had wanted to show the children right away but would have to wait until after school. So they sat and smiled, Lek swinging his feet over the edge, feeling years younger, as if the weight and burdens of time had slipped off his shoulders.
Hoping to repay Patch for the path and the tree house, Lek had asked whether he wanted to borrow the longboat for the afternoon. Patch understood the generosity behind the offer, as fuel was expensive, and frivolous excursions on the boat were rare sights. A part of him had been tempted to politely refuse, but he also understood that Lek longed to repay all the hard work. And so he had said yes, smiling at the way Lek had grinned and then tried to hurry down the ladder.
Patch had seen Brooke on the beach reading, and as Lek led him toward the longboat, he’d called out to her. She had set down her book, wrapped a sarong around her hips, and caught up to them. Patch had tried to find Ryan as well, but his brother’s bungalow was empty. Once Lek ensured that the engine was working fine, he had patted Patch on the back, which he’d never done before, and helped the two Americans get under way.
Now, as Brooke stood near the stern and steered the boat toward a distant cove, Patch wondered whether Ryan was getting another massage. Brooke had told Patch that she knew about the woman, that she was happy for Ryan. And while Patch worried Ryan might object to Brooke and him spending so much time together, he was comforted by the knowledge that Ryan seemed eager to seek out the masseuse and didn’t appear to have any desire to be with Brooke.
The sea was almost flat. Gentle swells caused the bow of the longboat to rise and fall. Standing next to Brooke, his hand on one of the steel poles that supported the canopy, Patch watched her steer. The serenity of her lightly tanned face seemed to match the still, smooth surface of the water. The wind blew her hair back, causing it to flutter like a flag.
As they approached the cove, Patch eased off on the throttle and the longboat slowed. Though the area was a popular destination for world-class snorkeling, it wasn’t always crowded. People tended to congregate here in the late morning or early afternoon, and Patch was glad to see that they had arrived after all but two boats had gone. The cove didn’t have a beach or anywhere to land, so Patch pointed to a large buoy and asked whether Brooke could steer toward it. Her aim was true and he cut the engine, hurried to the bow, and grabbed the buoy. After securing the longboat, he picked up a bag of snorkeling gear and headed back to Brooke. She had taken off her sarong and was in the midst of applying sunscreen to her legs. Patch tried to busy himself but found it hard not to glance in her direction. The sight of her bikini-clad body left nothing to his imagination and nearly overwhelmed him with desire.
“I want to introduce you to a friend of mine,” he said, needing to break the silence. “Actually, a friend of Niran’s and an acquaintance of mine.”
“What friend?”
He handed her a snorkel and mask. “She’s green and has big teeth. And as long as you don’t get too close to her, you’ll be good to go.”
“What about sharks? Are there sharks out here?”
“Some. But most are on the other side of the island. And they’re all just black-tipped reef sharks anyway. Nothing to worry about.”
She tied her hair into a ponytail. “Sure, sure?”
He grinned. “Sure, sure.” After taking off his shirt, he reached for his mask and snorkel. “You ready?”
“You should wear sunscreen. Your back’s peeling.”
“Sunscreen costs a lot. If I wore it every day, I’d be broke.”
“You are broke.”
Chuckling, he put on his mask and snorkel, held them against his face, and jumped out of the boat. Brooke did the same, bubbles obscuring her vision for a few seconds. The water, which seemed as transparent as the air, was about fifteen feet deep. She surfaced, cleared her snorkel, and then looked to where Patch was pointing. Putting her face
underwater, she saw that closer to land sprawled a vibrant reef. Circular mounds of brain coral the size of basketballs were the first things she noticed. Soft coral, the shape of leafless trees, also swayed in the gentle current. Nestled between the brightly colored varieties of coral were anemones, urchins, sea cucumbers, and clusters of hiding fish. White clams with purple interiors grew between gaps in the reef. Most of the clams were a foot or so long, though several were much larger.
Brooke again followed Patch’s pointing finger and saw a school of diamond-shaped squid swimming through the deeper water. The squid were almost translucent, their oversize eyes seeming to lock upon Brooke’s. She watched the creatures glide past, thinking that they looked to have come from another planet.
Following the outer contours of the reef, Patch swam on, often lowering his head, kicking his legs out of the water, and descending quickly to the bottom. Once, ten feet down, he took off his mask and snorkel, opened his eyes, and smiled at Brooke. She waved, aware that he was showing off but pleased that he was trying to impress her.
A few coral heads were damaged from anchors and feet, but otherwise, the underwater world looked to be in near perfect condition. Brooke mimicked Patch’s dives and was able to study the coral from a foot or two away, always careful not to touch it. She glanced at Patch on occasion, ensuring that she hadn’t kicked away from him. Despite his lack of well-defined muscles, she felt safe with him next to her, safer than she ever had in Ryan’s presence. This sense of safety, she thought, came from what she perceived as his selflessness. The people around him seemed like his first concern.
Patch motioned for her to kick to the surface, and she did, pulling out her snorkel. “The Jolly Green Giant is right over here,” he said. “Let’s say hi.”
“That’s what you named her?”
“Yup.”
Brooke followed him again. After a few strong kicks he pointed to what looked like some sort of hole in the reef. At first Brooke didn’t see anything other than colorful coral, but then she spied a moray eel. Its green head was almost as large as hers, and its long body was thicker than her thigh. The eel was nearly motionless—only its gaping mouth opening and closing ever so slightly. The creature, while beautiful, made Brooke feel out of place for the first time since she’d entered the water. Though Patch dived to within a few feet of the eel, Brooke had no desire to be any closer to its massive jaws and knifelike teeth.
Floating on the surface, she watched Patch circle the eel. After a minute or so, as he was near the bottom and facing her, she saw an immense manta ray approach him from behind. The animal glided like a kite on a breeze, the almost imperceptible fluttering of its wing-shaped fins propelling it forward. Brooke assumed that it would steer clear of Patch, but the manta ray came within a few feet of him, passing above his outstretched hand. He must not have seen it coming, for as soon as it entered his vision he jerked his hand away and let out a muffled cry. The ray didn’t change its direction or speed, but Patch kicked quickly to the surface.
“That scared the crap out of me!” he said, pulling off his mask and then splashing Brooke. “Thanks for the warning.”
She splashed him back. “Did you think it was a shark?”
“Hell, yes. I thought it was going to take off my arm.”
Laughing, she kicked away from the eel, not wanting it near her dangling feet. “I thought the sharks here were safe. That they were nothing to worry about.”
“That doesn’t mean I want one coming up from behind me while I’m floating around like some sort of tasty treat.”
“You jerked your hand away like a great white was after you.”
He splashed her again, smiling. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, that was a monster manta ray. Its shadow might as well have been from a great white.”
“Oh, poor baby. How frightening.”
He kicked after her and she tried to swim away. But she was laughing too hard to get far. He soon caught her, grabbing her by the shoulder and threatening to pull her under. She spit a mouthful of seawater into his face, so he tugged her down, dunking her. When she resurfaced he dunked her again and then kicked toward the boat.
She wasn’t sure if he let her catch him, but she swam as fast as possible and managed to grab his foot as he tried to climb aboard the longboat. She pulled down, laughing as he fell back into the water. Crying out, he reached for her shoulder but missed, and his fingers swept down her arm and thigh. When he resurfaced it was her turn to dunk him, and she pressed her weight down on him, sending him under once again. A few seconds passed before his hands emerged, his fingers making peace signs. She nodded and pulled him up, helping him grab hold of the boat.
“Shark!” she yelled, and he went rigid once again. Then he was laughing. She laughed with him, everything but the sight and sound of his joy fading from her senses. She wasn’t aware of the longboat approaching, of the voices drifting across the water. All she saw and heard was Patch. His happiness was infectious. His eyes were on hers, drawing them together as if eyes could communicate more freely than voices, could generate intimacy more powerfully than touch.
The connection between them was so strong that suddenly she had to kiss him, to taste him. She put her hand around his neck and drew him closer, her lips parting, her laughter gone. Pulling him tight against her, she felt his lips press on hers, a gentle sensation at first, but he must have been as hungry for her as she was for him, because his tongue found hers and the bond between them strengthened. Her hands traced the contours of his body. She heard a soft moan emerge from between his lips and then hers.
Brooke had never known that a kiss could consume her. But at that moment, she traveled somewhere, traveled within the union between them. The destination she arrived at was as beautiful as the reef, full of grace and wonder and creation. And though a small, distant part of her knew that she needed to open her eyes and draw away, she waited for him to do it. And when he finally did pull back, the scent and taste of him remained within her, keeping her journey alive, hinting of the road ahead.
She opened her eyes, and the world appeared so much richer than it had a few minutes earlier. Her senses seemed heightened, her body ready to take flight. She imagined his lips on hers, his body on hers, and, needing to quench her desire before she reached out to him, before she consumed him, she plunged underwater, letting herself sink toward the reef, heedless of whatever lurked below.
AFTER PREPARING DINNER FOR ELEVEN customers and her own family members, reading a story to Niran and Suchin, and putting them to bed, Sarai returned to her kitchen. Though she usually tried to clean as she cooked, the night had been chaotic, and dishes were stacked on counters and piled in the sink. Seeing the mess, she sighed. After emptying the sink, she began to wash the dishes by hand, scrubbing them carefully and setting them on a drying rack. A few minutes later, Lek entered, carrying Achara. She was asleep on his shoulder.
He sat on the kitchen’s only chair, moving slowly. Achara stirred and he hummed, patting her back. Sarai watched their daughter settle against him and returned to the dishes. Most of what she’d made had been eaten, but several plates were nearly full, and she thought about the work she had put into each dish. Normally she would have saved the leftovers, but the food had sat for too long on the table while the women who ordered it shared a cigarette and drank Singhas.
Using a brush with force and precision, Sarai scrubbed plates and pots. When she saw that Achara was asleep once again, she asked Lek about his day. To her surprise, he didn’t smile but shook his head. “They shouldn’t be handing out flyers on the way to school,” he said. “They must have been so late. And they already do too much.”
She shut off the water but continued to scrub. “They brought us four customers. Four bellies to fill with my pancakes, and two bodies to rub. That’s nine hundred baht. Nine hundred. Would you rather that we didn’t have it?”
“I’d rather that they weren’t always peddling.�
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“You think I want them peddling? That it makes me happy?”
“I—”
“Don’t think like a man, like a dreamer. We don’t have the luxuries of dreamers. Suchin and Niran will have to peddle as long as we live here.”
He leaned back until his head touched the wall. “Hunting for coins? Chasing down tourists on the pier? And now spreading flyers around half the island? When does it end? It’s shameful.”
Sarai turned on the water again. She gripped a plate, her knuckles whitening. “What do you know about shame? You walk around fixing leaking roofs and toilets. You don’t need to swallow your pride. I swallow mine. Every day. I peddle food, drinks, massages, and anything else I can think of. I clean up messes all day long. So I know about shame. It’s with me like my shadow. But I’m not afraid to walk with it. Why should our lives be so perfect that we don’t have such burdens? Are we so much more deserving than our friends?”
“No, but—”
“Stop your dreaming, Lek. Stop acting like a twelve-year-old boy. In your heart of hearts, you know that we’ll always peddle. That’s the price we pay for living here. And it’s a small price. Our children are happy. We’re happy. So don’t become so prideful that you lose sight of that. I can’t have a blind man in my life. I already have to take care of too many people. You hear me? Too many people.”
“Easy, now,” he said, standing up, moving to her side. “You’ll wake Achara.”
Sarai started washing the dishes again, wanting to hold her daughter but knowing that first she needed to clean the kitchen. “Don’t be prideful. Remember what Buddha said about pride: that it’s like standing on the top of a tall mountain and looking down on all the other peaks, thinking that everyone is beneath you.”
“I don’t see things that way. I don’t look down.”
“Don’t start.”
“I just don’t want Suchin and Niran to think that they’re beneath others. And I see how they hang on the answers of tourists. A yes makes them smile. A no makes them sad. That’s too much power in the hands of others, too much power over our children.”