“A what?”
“It is the most fundamental way of transportation in all Bangkok.”
“What is it?”
“You will soon see.”
Moments later a deafening whine lurched around the corner, and Khemkaeng raised an arm, gesturing. A small blue vehicle with three wheels skidded its way toward the curb. The driver, clad in what seemed an unofficial uniform of navy blue shirt and stained trousers, eased back on the throttle as Khemkaeng dickered over a price.
“We are all set.” He gave Rachel Marie a hand as they settled into a pink bench seat sheathed in hot clear plastic. “Only fifty baht.”
“What is this thing?” She was mystified by the motorized jumbo tricycle, which had a canopy overhead and a colorful metal framework separating them from the driver. Instead of a steering wheel, the operator had a typical motorcycle handlebar, which he gunned feverishly as they scooted down the street.
“It’s called a tuk tuk,” he explained again.
“How come?”
For a moment Khemkaeng seemed nonplussed by the question. “Really, I am not sure. Tuk tuk does not have a Thai meaning. But the diesel engine does sound almost like tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk.” He imitated the throaty roar of the cheap motor with sarcastic accuracy and they both laughed.
It was a ten-minute ride over to the Garvey home, and a knot of similar vehicles edged close to each other at each intersection, as if to compete with the gathering army of motorcycles. The engines threatened to stall at lights, and drivers coped by gunning them with the right-hand controls, creating a cloud of diesel stench. The combined chorus of roars was almost deafening, rendering conversation impossible. Khemkaeng, bemused when she almost shouted a question in his ear, patiently put up a hand as if to simply postpone the query.
“Whooh! That was amazing.” She clambered free, straightening her skirt, as he paid the driver and pointed to a home set back from the street. “Where are we?”
He gestured. “These small streets are called soi. A larger road, like the one out there, is a thanon. So John and Marilyn live on Soi Ekamai, number 63, off of that big road which is called Sukhumvit.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m getting all of this.”
“No.” He returned her smile. “But bit by bit you will soon learn it. In a few months, this will all feel like your home.”
That sounded like an impossible dream as she looked around at the foreign architecture, with curlicues on the eaves and Thai billboards blanketing even this residential area. But she determined to try and learn to love this new world God had led her to choose.
A toddler wearing just a torn pair of underpants came dashing out from behind a large bush, almost running into her before backing away, wide-eyed and startled. Rachel Marie grinned, lowering herself to the child’s level and giving him an affectionate wave. “The dress code’s a bit more relaxed here, isn’t it?”
Just then Marilyn peeked out the front door at them. “I thought I heard you guys,” she beamed. “Come in! We’ve been waiting.” She showed Rachel Marie in, then turned to Khemkaeng. “Did you bring her in your car, or make Rachel Marie ride in a tuk tuk?”
“You have a car?” Rachel Marie asked.
He nodded. “It is older, and I got it for a good price after it was in repair following an accident. But I wanted for you to get to see what the tuk tuk ride was like.”
“Shame on you,” Marilyn scolded, giving the administrator a playful slap on his exposed forearm. “Her first day here and you’re going to get her killed. If that diesel exhaust doesn’t choke the two of you.” They took off their shoes according to the Asian custom, and followed her into the living room.
“I’m glad you’re here!” John came out of the study next to the dining room. He gave Rachel Marie a warm hug. “How are you feeling, young lady?”
“Better.” At least at the moment, it was true. The nap had given her a second wind, and it was a startling sense of relief to step into buildings with their ever-present air conditioning. The hardwood floor of the Garveys’ elegant home was delightfully cool underneath her bare feet. She glanced around at the living room, which seemed decorated in an all-elephant motif. Two huge carved beasts in rich teakwood stood at the entrance to the dining area, and a wall painting showed several of the fabled gray beasts performing logging feats in a lumber camp.
Khemkaeng led her around the room, explaining the craftsmanship and how the artisans performed such magic with their sculpting and painting. “See that one there?” He pointed to a stunning tapestry of village life, the muted colors blending into an idyllic scene of planting and serene nature.
“Uh huh.”
“The painter spends perhaps two hours doing that.”
Rachel Marie gasped. “No way! It’s gorgeous!” It looked to her like the work of many months.
“Yes. Sometimes an artist can do a similar painting on a T-shirt while you wait. Twenty minutes . . . and three hundred baht.”
Nine dollars. She marveled at the handiwork. Set on a countertop underneath the elephant painting, Marilyn had placed a row of finely polished lacquer-ware with exquisite gold leaf on the tiny lids. “These are amazing.”
“Someday you will have to visit Chiang Mai. Most of Thailand’s best art is done there. Silverware, jewelry, paintings, silk.”
Rachel Marie traced an admiring finger across the jet-black utensils. “I’d love that. But”–an impish grin–“I’ll be stuck in a classroom this whole next year. Plus grading a million spelling papers. When would I go?”
He moved a step closer. “We have holidays too, you know.”
The meal was a zesty blend of unusual tastes and cheerful banter. John was a great tease, and he seemed to especially enjoy jousting verbally with Khemkaeng. The two men had a delightful rapport, with Khemkaeng being more of the “straight man” in their routines. He often glanced over at Rachel Marie to make sure none of their inside references from school left her confused.
“Have a bit more pad thai?” Marilyn asked.
“Just a teeny bit,” she remonstrated. The thin rice noodles were extraordinary, especially flavored with tofu and vegetables. And the peanuts added a pleasant crunch to each bite.
The foursome topped off the meal with chilled slices of mango and a dessert of vanilla ice cream. “Some things are essential everywhere in the world,” John smiled as he gave his guests second helpings. “I think I eat more ice cream out here than I ever had even when I was a kid and didn’t know better.” They all laughed.
The party chatted amiably for half an hour after supper, but they could tell Rachel Marie was drooping. “I’m really sorry,” she confessed. “This is so nice, and I’m trying to stay awake, but I’m kind of zonked.”
“Of course you are, dear.” Marilyn put a comforting arm around her. “And we’ve got this whole year to get acquainted.”
“Shall we put her in a cab and send her home?” John asked Khemkaeng. “I guess, first time out, that’s not such a good idea.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No, I shall take her.” He gave his charge a gentle smile. “This time we will ride a regular taxi. Much more comfortable.”
“Okay.” She swallowed back a yawn, and thanked her hosts. “This was just great. I appreciate it a lot.”
“Our pleasure,” John responded. “And I know you’re going to be a great part of our team. First thing Monday!” He glanced at his wife. “If you like, we’ll be glad to come by and round you up for church this weekend. Most of our staff worships together; there’s a marvelous church just about two kilometers from the school. United Christian Church. English and Thai both, wonderful music. How’s that sound?”
She nodded, trying to visualize a Christian service in this society so permeated with Buddhism and its unique way of life and animist philosophy. “I’d like that.”
Traffic was quieter now as the air-conditioned taxi wended its way back to the main thoroughfare. She tried to remember the name of the street, recalling o
nly that it began with S. A couple of five-star hotels jutted up on the left, and a massive mall could be seen from nearly a kilometer away. Despite her groggy state, she tried to begin memorizing landmarks, remembering a large elevated billboard where a stunning Thai model in a skimpy bathing suit advertised soap.
“We turn right at that light, and then there is your apartment,” he pointed out.
“Oh yeah.” She peered out the window at the twinkling lights of various restaurants. “I recognize that coffee shop right there.”
Khemkaeng directed the cab operator into the small courtyard. “Get some rest,” he advised. “By Monday you should feel very good.”
“I know.”
He got out and opened her door for her. “Got it?” He reached in and helped her climb out of the cramped back seat.
“Yeah, thanks.” The touch reminded her of similar gestures where Adrian had helped her into and out of his expensive Acura. She blushed now, looking at this new friend’s warm features and handsome face with such youthful skin. “I really appreciate you bringing me home. Sorry I kind of need a babysitter these first few days.”
He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Actually, maybe I hope you always will.”
She pondered the remark as she soaked in the shower, pleasantly mystified as the water slowly ran down to cool.
CHAPTER SIX
The large gymnasium was a hubbub of cheerful confusion as students milled around, looking for their homeroom teacher. Rachel Marie held up a sign: “Miss Stone, Form 6C,” and a single line slowly formed before her, facing the center of the building. The girls instinctively moved to the front, and they eyed the American teacher with shy curiosity.
“Good morning!” She gave them a big smile and slowly walked down the line, doing a mental count. Twenty-six . . . 27 . . . 28. She sighed with relief, noting they were all present.
“Hello, BCS students!” John, carrying a wireless microphone, panned the throng. “We’re ready for another wonderful school year, and are so glad each of you is here again!” He nodded toward Khemkaeng, standing next to him in a black pinstriped suit. “Mr. Chaisurivirat is our assistant administrator, and he will have some announcements after the national anthem.”
A sudden burst of music rang through the loudspeakers, and two big video screens filled with color images. All at once, the students were singing. Brateht thai ruam lued nua chaht chuah thai. Rachel Marie turned to face the front, listening in fascination to the spectacle of a thousand students–mature high school seniors and tiny kindergarten children, barely more than toddlers–in perfect unison. She could hear the boys in the back of her own row singing lustily, their gaze moving proudly back and forth between the landscape scenes of bustling factories and rice paddies on the digital screens as two students ceremoniously raised the colors. The song culminated with a beatific picture of the kingdom’s monarch waving to adoring subjects, and the anthem’s conclusion ascended to a glorious high note and a cry of Chai-o!
The students gave the last word an extra burst of energy, and Rachel Marie bemusedly thought about baseball’s seventh-inning stretch back in southern California, when fans would belt out: “And it’s root-root-root for the DODGERS!”
Khemkaeng motioned for the children to settle down, and the buzz quickly stilled. He welcomed everyone in crisp English and described the new half-Friday schedule and an upcoming field trip for the juniors and seniors. “Now we have asked one of our finest Matthayom Six students, Mathee, to say our opening prayer.”
A tall boy, immaculate in his maroon slacks and white shirt, accepted the microphone. “Okay, let us pray,” he said awkwardly. Rachel Marie almost forgot to close her eyes, amazed at the vision of so many Buddhist kids praying to her God. “Dear Father, we always thank you for this excellent school,” the boy said, his head bowed. “Please bless our fine teachers and our families and our friendship. Give us safety and love at all times. We pray we will come to understand teachings of Jesus and his love for all Thai people. Amen.”
“Off you go, then!” John waved affectionately to the students and nodded to a boy at the PA sound board tucked into a corner of the gym. A lively Christian praise hit, recently done in American churches, boomed through the speakers, and Rachel Marie could see her students brightening, some humming and mouthing the words as they followed her up the stairs.
They paraded into the classroom, gawking at the furnishings and posters. Rachel Marie had spent part of the previous afternoon there, and had written her name and a big “WELCOME!” on the whiteboard.
“You may choose where to sit, but wherever you choose, you have to stay in that same chair for at least this first month.” Rachel Marie laughed. “‘Cause it’ll take me that long to learn all your names.”
There was cheerful scurrying as kids paired up with favorites and grabbed places at the tables. She noticed with relief that there were sixteen girls and twelve boys, so no one had to endure the embarrassment of teaming up with a student of the opposite gender.
“All right,” Rachel Marie added brightly. “This is our first day of school, and I just came to your country four days ago, so I’m very, very new. But already I love this beautiful city, and your delicious food, and all the nice people . . .”
A girl in the front row raised her hand.
“Yes?”
The child blushed at being recognized. “What we call you?”
“Well,” she mused, “my name is Rachel Marie Stone. At home in America my students would say ‘Miss Stone.’ What is your custom here?”
Several students bobbed their heads. “Sometimes we say ‘ma’am,’” one interjected.
“That would be all right. I remember that one girl called me ‘Missie Stone,’ and I liked that too. But you kids decide.”
A taller boy slouched in the back row, peering at her with a slightly insolent twinkle. “It is okay if we call you ‘Rachel’?”
“No.” She smiled as she said it, but her tone was firm. “Everywhere in the world, students always show respect to their teachers by using last names. ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Miss Stone’–or ‘Missie Stone’–will be all right.” She looked right at him. “Do you all understand that?”
The boy wasn’t about to be deterred. “If ‘Rachel’ is your name, why we cannot call ‘Rachel’?”
Keep it cool. “Well, like I said . . .” A sudden inspiration came to her. “Tell you what. I’m sorry, tell me your name.”
He paused. “Siroj.”
“Is that your first name?”
A nod.
Rachel Marie took a step toward the boys’ area. “Well, I always want you to feel like I respect you,” she explained. “This is your country, and I’m a visitor here. So I want to treat you in a professional way, and also in an almost-adult way. Do you all understand that?”
Most of the girls nodded eagerly, but the young boy remained unmoved.
“That’s one of the reasons why I was so excited to come here to Bangkok and teach you. I love sixth grade, because you’re not small children. You can understand the idea that to succeed in the world, respecting your teachers and your friends is one of the most important things you can learn. This is a very good skill for young people who are almost adults. Do you understand that, Siroj?” She used the name carefully.
Finally he nodded.
“Okay, then,” she said brightly. “If you have a certain name you wish for me to call you, or if you prefer that I call you Miss . . . Whatever, or Kuhn Siroj . . .” The students snickered at the odd sound, and even the boy managed a ghost of a smile.
“There’s one more thing.” Rachel Marie leaned against the edge of her desk as she chatted with them. “I’m very new here. There are many exciting things about Thailand that I’ve not had the chance to learn. In a way I will be your teacher, and you will be my teacher. So this is going to be a great adventure.”
A small girl with a long, thick braid and Indian features raised her hand. “Excuse me, Missie Stone. You say we will teach yo
u?”
“Uh huh.” A big grin. “And you know what? Once in a while I may say something that comes out wrong. I may accidentally say something that you feel is not respectful. And I want to say right now, I will try to never let that happen. But if it does, please tell me immediately. And also, please understand that it happened because I didn’t know. I would never do anything disrespectful to you on purpose, because you are all my students and I love you.”
Most of the girls gaped, and two clapped their hands over their mouths in bemusement at the expression of endearment.
“So that’s that,” Rachel Marie concluded. “Okay, would you like me to read you a short story for our worship?”
“Yes, Missie Stone.” Pranom, a beautiful twelve-year-old on the second row, beamed. “We all are very much loving stories.” She looked around slyly, then added: “More than work.”
“All right.” Back in Temple City, she had picked out several books of favorites, and thumbed over to one she knew would play well in all cultures. She was an expressive reader and knew how to add drama and just the right touch of whimsy to any story. The kids leaned forward with interest as she regaled them with the simple tale’s Christian moral.
“So let’s pray, and then we’ll get to work!” Bowing her head, she thanked the Lord for a new year and for his promise to bless them as they learned about him and the world he had made for them.
The first two weeks of school were a blur of confusion and correcting misunderstandings as Rachel Marie tried to memorize the schedule and get into a routine. Amidst many giggles, she persuaded each child to pose or mug for a picture, and she quickly downloaded them into a PowerPoint file with their elegant Thai names and preferred nicknames entered under the various photos.
“It’s so tough,” she complained to Benjamin, the school’s resident Brit, as they paced the playground’s edge during a free-for-all recess, keeping a watchful eye on their charges. “Many of my kids really do look alike–I know that’s a stereotype, but it’s true–and then with these uniforms, I’m taking a hopelessly long time to learn the names.” Bangkok Christian School had a weekly rotation of five different approved outfits, including a cute plaid blouse that the girls were assigned to wear each Thursday. Daeng, an elfin girl in her class, waved shyly to the pair as she raced off in pursuit of an errant soccer ball.
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 8