by John Shors
“You want to stay, don’t you?” Suchin asked. “You’ve found your little friend and you want to stay.”
“I don’t know.”
She nudged him. “Yes, you do.”
“Maybe. I think so.”
Suchin looked out to the sea, believing that her grandmother was still out there, that she would always remain in these waters. “She’ll want to hear us laugh. She’ll want to see us play. And it will be harder for her . . . if we’re in Bangkok.”
Sarai squeezed her daughter’s hand. “She’s reborn by now. I know she is. So don’t ever worry about her not being a part of your world.”
Suchin started to cry again. “I won’t.”
“What should we do, Suchin?” Sarai asked, then bit her lip as tears obscured her vision. “Which path will be harder for you?”
“We should stay. Our family . . . has always stayed.”
A ship materialized in the distance, an immense ship the likes of which Sarai had never seen. Help was coming, she knew. They weren’t alone. They had survived their darkest hours and they were not alone.
“I think we should rebuild,” Sarai said, committing herself. “I think Rainbow Resort was meant to be here. The restaurant, your tree house, those things are still here. They weren’t meant to go. Just like we weren’t. And if we weren’t meant to go, I don’t think we should leave.”
Lek reached for his wife’s hand. “If we’re going to stay, we should help with the school. Let’s rebuild the school. Let’s start with that.”
“Tomorrow,” Sarai replied. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
“And today?”
“Today I just want to hold each of you,” she answered, pulling her children closer, feeling her husband’s head press against her own, tears running down her cheeks. “You’re all miracles, you know,” she said, shuddering. “Miracles that floated down to me, that I feel and love each and every moment, that fill me with the light of the sun.”
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 28
footprints
At the end of the beach, far removed from the cleanup crews, the piles of wreckage, and the makeshift infirmary, Brooke and Patch stood at the edge of the water. Patch held Ryan’s football and passport. He remembered throwing the football with his brother, remembered autumn days and jumping into piles of leaves. After bringing the football to his nose, he inhaled deeply, trying to detect Ryan’s presence. The football smelled as it always did—like old leather. But something else might have lingered—the presence of his brother’s hands, perhaps.
Patch had come to the water to throw the football as far out as possible, to play one last game of catch with Ryan. His brother had always taken the football with them on family trips, had always made sure that they had time to play catch. And so it had seemed to Patch that Ryan should have the football with him, should carry it wherever he went. But now, as Patch turned the football over and over in his hands, he was torn. He wanted to give Ryan a gift, and yet he feared separating himself from such a connection.
Tears glistened on his cheeks. He continued to spin the football. Then he kissed it, pulled back his arm, and threw with all his might. The football spiraled forward, arcing high, traveling straight and true. It landed with a small splash, skipped forward, and settled into the water. The tide was going out, and the football drifted toward the open sea. Patch wondered if his brother had seen his throw. He hoped so. Ryan would be pleased.
Patch watched the football until it was a distant blur. Opening the passport, he studied his brother’s picture. They looked so alike. “It doesn’t feel right to go,” Patch said quietly. “Even if we help rebuild for eighty days until his visa expires.”
Brooke shook her head. “Your visa. It’s your visa.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“Make it right.”
“What do you mean?”
She took his free hand, her fingers cool against his. “Make your life count.”
A longboat came into view, cutting through the water, heading toward the opposite end of the beach. The longboat was towing something wide and red.
Patch pondered Brooke’s words, knowing that they would stay for eighty days, helping to rebuild Rainbow Resort. His parents would come, and they would help too. And somehow they would find the grace within themselves to absolve him. He knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself for many years, at least until he had done as Brooke had said. His life would have to count. Not that every life didn’t matter. Of course it did. But Patch would have to reach for something special, to aim so high. After his last eighty days in Thailand, he’d use Ryan’s passport and travel to another place where his help was needed. And he’d stay for however long it took to cleanse what needed cleansing, to save what needed saving. He’d be called Ryan, and strangers would come to know that name. They would speak it. They would celebrate it. They would thank a god or simple luck for delivering this name to them.
“Will you help me?” he asked, holding the passport against his chest.
Brooke lifted up his hand and kissed it. “I want to go back to Dao, to see how she’s doing. And then I’ll come find you.” She kissed him again, studying the redness of his eyes. “If you’d never come here, if you’d never gotten into trouble, Suchin, Niran, Achara, and Dao, they’d all be dead.”
“But my brother would be alive.”
“Would you give your life for those children?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what he did. That’s what he chose.”
His tears came again and he shuddered against her, his injured knee threatening to buckle. Pulling her closer, he squeezed her arms, needing her as much as he’d ever needed anything. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”
Brooke saw the pain in his eyes, a pain that threatened to overwhelm her as well. “Why would I leave you . . . when I’m falling in love with you?” she replied, and kissed his hand again.
“You are?”
“You know I am.”
“How? How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. But you . . . you see me. Not who you want to see. But who I am.”
“I love who you are.”
She smiled and wiped his cheek free of tears. “I won’t leave you.”
“But I have to . . . do things. To go places where I can help.”
“So do I. We can do twice as much together.”
“It’ll be hard.”
“I don’t care.”
“Really hard.”
“The harder, the better.”
He sniffed. “But what about business school? About your studies ? I know school is important to you and I don’t want—”
“School can wait. I’d rather stay here. It’s more important that we stay here.”
He hugged her, holding her tight, stroking the back of her head. “That’s how I’ll honor him, how I’ll repay him. He was never proud . . . of me. And he had no reason to be. But now . . . now I want to make him proud. I know he’ll be watching . . . and I just want to make him proud.”
“And you will. You’ll make everyone proud.”
“I have to.”
“Let’s go. Let’s see Dao. And then we’ll start working. We’ll start making him proud.”
They embraced for several minutes, saying no more but feeling each other, drawing strength from each other. Then they started to walk, hand in hand, down the beach. They walked near the waterline, leaving footprints that were filled, then washed away by diminutive waves.
Though their footprints were impermanent, in the days and weeks and many months to come, their touch would linger, on wood, on people, bringing beauty to ugliness, life to death, hope to misery.
Their footprints would be washed away, but their deeds would remain, tangible and resonant and cherished, like monuments built by past generations.
And then one day, years later, they would come to peace with their pasts. They would sit on a beach together and feel no more anguish, no more fear. They would smile in
contentment, knowing that they had done their best, and that their best had been good enough, had been good enough to build a path to carry others forward.
The sea had come and taken, but some things couldn’t be taken, because some things were stronger than even the sea.
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afterword
I first traveled to Ko Phi Phi in 1992. Though I arrived with a horrible case of food poisoning, I was mesmerized by the island’s beauty. I felt as if I had stumbled into some unknown slice of paradise. For three days, as I lay on the beach and recovered, I soaked up everything that the island had to offer. If one could fall in love with a place, well, I had fallen.
I returned to the island in 1994 and 1999. Each visit brought unwelcome changes—more tourists, fancier bungalows, higher prices, even a few cigarette boats. And yet the spirit of the island remained. The water was still turquoise and clear, the cliffs magnificent, the people friendly.
When the tsunami tore through Ko Phi Phi in 2004, I felt compelled to help, but my wife and I were in Colorado with our two young children, and international travel wasn’t practical. And so I waited, returning in 2007 to research Cross Currents. I was astounded by how much of the infrastructure had been rebuilt. And while I was disappointed by the nature of some of that rebuilding (too many shops, hotels, and bars), I was also inspired. The Thais had seen the worst that life could offer, and, though still haunted with memories, they had risen.
In late 2010, while I was putting the finishing touches on Cross Currents, my wife and children accompanied me to Ko Phi Phi. On the beach we watched our children play with other children from around the world, and that world felt small and good. It felt right. Though the tsunami had destroyed so much and so many, though wounds still existed, I felt hopeful. The sun was warm, the water still, and the laughter of others was carried on the wind.
acknowledgments
Cross Currents would not have been possible without the support of many people. First and foremost on that list are my wife, Allison, and our children, Sophie and Jack. I draw inspiration from each of you every single day.
I’d like to express my gratitude toward Laura Dail, my agent and friend, who has always had my back, and who believed in this novel from the start. Also, my sincere thanks to Ellen Edwards, my wonderful editor, who works as hard at her craft as anyone I know. Thanks also to my parents, John and Patsy Shors; my brothers, Tom, Matt, and Luke; as well as Mary and Doug Barakat, Bruce McPherson, Dustin O’Regan, Amy Tan, Chris Bohjalian, Karl Marlantes, Joan Silber, Kara Cesare, Pennie Ianniciello, Bevan Powrie, Sally Van Vert, Terry Naumann, Kamon Jungruk, Sahat Hod, Shawna Sharp, Bliss Darragh, Diane Saarinen, Kara Welsh, Kaitlyn Kennedy, and Davina Witts.
Giving recognition to the wonderful people of Ko Phi Phi is also imperative. The people I interviewed who survived the tsunami taught me so much about what happened, about how they endured that day. My gratitude for their honesty and strength is profound. Also, my recent travels to Thailand were enhanced by the help of a variety of Thais and expats. I’d like to thank Robin, King, Aaron, and the friendly staff at www.railay.com for providing great accommodation.
For all that I have received, I am grateful.
John Shors is the bestselling author of Beneath a Marble Sky, Beside a Burning Sea, Dragon House, The Wishing Trees, and Cross Currents. He has won numerous awards for his writing, and his novels have been translated into twenty-seven languages.
John lives in Boulder, Colorado, with his wife and two children. For more information, please visit www.johnshors.com.
READERS GUIDE
JOHN SHORS
cross currents
READERS GUIDE
A CONVERSATION WITH JOHN SHORS
Q. It seems that you try to identify places and subjects that haven’t yet been explored in novels, and then you do exactly that. Can you talk about how you choose the stories that you decide to tell?
A. It’s hard to be completely original, since so many novels and poems and films are out there, but it has been my strategy to travel overseas looking for stories that haven’t been told. For instance, a trip to India inspired my first novel, Beneath a Marble Sky, which is about the creation of the Taj Mahal. It’s based on a story that is famous in South Asia, but not well-known in the West. I was surprised to learn that so little had been written about the Taj Mahal, and felt that the story would give me a wonderful opportunity to make a splash with my debut novel. Likewise, I felt that the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 was a global event that had faded quickly into the background. In my opinion, far too little had been written about this enormous calamity. Perhaps because of my many travels to the region, I continued to think about the people and places that were affected by the tsunami, and I wanted to honor those who survived and those who died by writing a novel inspired by them.
Q. Many of the early pages of Cross Currents are devoted to exploring the relationships between locals and tourists. Why did you decide to devote so much of the novel to this topic?
A. In my travels I’ve seen how locals and tourists interact. In some places, this interaction is characterized by resentment and bitterness, mistrust and suspicion. It’s a complicated relationship, and often evolves from mutual need, rather than mutual respect. The good news is that in many other places around the world, locals and tourists mingle quite comfortably together. Thailand is such a place. While differences between Thais and foreigners do exist, and conflict is present, there is also genuine goodwill between these two sets of people. It’s a joy to behold, and I savored exploring its nuances in my writing.
Q. A pair of brothers, different from each other in many ways, are among the most important characters in the novel. Why did you decide to make Patch and Ryan brothers instead of best friends?
A. I wanted these two characters to be involved with the same woman, and felt that by making them brothers, I was adding a layer of conflict and complexity to the relationships. Brothers know each other so well—their strengths and weaknesses, hopes and fears. And certainly sibling rivalry does exist. I wanted to explore such rivalry, as well as the bond between brothers.
Q. Patch makes a colossal mistake early on in the book, and places himself in a difficult situation. Have you ever made such a blunder and found yourself in a predicament that seemed to have no way out?
A. I’ve done plenty of foolish things, but have never been in trouble with the law. And yet, I can relate to Patch, because I think that life, despite all of its beauty, can be so unforgiving. One mistake can cost you so much. Experience has made me more careful and aware than I used to be. In my twenties I took lots of risks. I’m glad I took them, as they ultimately shaped who I am, but I won’t make the same choices again.
Q. The Thai family in the novel is faced with a dilemma—to try to make ends meet in Ko Phi Phi or move to Bangkok. Is that often a choice that Thai families must make?
A. There was a time, not too long ago, when many of Thailand’s outer islands were largely undiscovered. Locals fished and tended coconut plantations. Very few tourists knew about such places, despite the remarkably beautiful waters and beaches. Yet as the world became more accessible, such places were discovered, creating a boom in tourism. In some ways this boom benefited the locals, and in other ways it did not. One consequence is that many Thais from the mainland moved to the islands, seeking jobs. And these additional residents began to compete with the locals for work. In Cross Currents, Lek and Sarai face the challenge of operating their small resort in competition with much larger operations. From what I could see during my visits, theirs is a common dilemma.
Q. Several characters, perhaps most notably Yai and Ryan, redeem themselves in the novel. Can you talk about their redemption?
A. I wanted Yai to surprise readers. For so much of the book she makes fun of herself, lamenting her shortcomings. Yet at the end, she’s remarkably strong-willed and brave. Her experience mirrors what I’ve personally witnessed. Sometimes people who seem w
eak on the surface have vast reserves of strength and resolve. When it came to Ryan, I gave him plenty of flaws, but wanted to show that he also has the capacity to be redeemed. He begins the book as self-centered and selfish, but ends up making the ultimate sacrifice for others.
Q. After the tsunami strikes, Thais and tourists help each other, risking everything to save one another’s lives. Was this the case in real life?
A. I’ve spoken with dozens of people who survived the tsunami, and I’ve read many firsthand accounts of the disaster. People went to great lengths to rescue each other, regardless of their nationality. Countless lives were saved by such selfless acts. Moreover, in the weeks and months that followed, Thais and tourists continued to work together, rebuilding the infrastructure on Ko Phi Phi and cleaning out the bays. I’ve read that seven thousand tons of debris were removed, by hand, from the bays and the beaches.
Q. What did it feel like to return to Ko Phi Phi after the tsunami? With whom did you talk? And how did those conversations influence Cross Currents?
A. It was a bit surreal to return to the island. So many things had changed, and yet so much had remained the same. All of the physical beauty was still there, but almost everything man-made was either gone or newly rebuilt. Sitting on a beach where several thousand people had died a few years earlier was both haunting and a source of hope. I did a lot of thinking on that beach, about how our lives are just small ripples in a vast ocean, yet we each have significance, and we each can impact the lives of our loved ones, total strangers, and the world around us. As far as the conversations I had about the tsunami, I spoke with fishermen, hotel owners, masseuses, and children. These people helped me get a feel for how the tsunami struck the island, how waves came from either side, and the mayhem that resulted from their collision. I also learned how people survived—by clinging to trees, to pieces of lumber, to each other. Many of them had lost family members. Some still hadn’t been able to go back into the ocean. Some had brought new babies into the world. These conversations were invaluable.