Yahoo! Sports informed her that the Dodgers held a 2-1 lead in the National League Championship Series, with two more games in Atlanta before the contest came back to the West Coast. She logged off, sliding her chair a few inches back so the air conditioning vent would direct its cool breezes to the back of her neck.
“Are you finished?”
It was Khemkaeng, sans suit jacket, as he waved to her from the doorway.
Rachel Marie colored slightly, embarrassed about her limousine fantasies. For a fleeting moment, she fretted inwardly that Benjie might have blabbed all over campus about the flirtatious rendezvous at poolside last weekend. But Khemkaeng seemed entirely at ease as he entered the room.
“Yeah, I just finished.” She tucked the folder away in her large catch-all drawer, and smiled up at him. “How are things?”
“Everything is well.” He leaned carefully against her desk and returned her smile. “John and I always have our financial review on Wednesdays, but he telephoned from the government bureau where he is arranging travel permits for the senior class. So our time is canceled.”
“Nice. Unexpected free time for you . . . what are you going to do?”
She hadn’t seen him in a teasing mode for a while, and it cheered her up when he looked disarmingly right into her eyes. “I would like to take you sightseeing. If you wish.”
“That sounds great. Any place in particular?”
“Have you been yet to see Wat Pho?”
She drew a blank, and he hastened to elaborate. “The Reclining Buddha.”
“Huh uh. Is it far?”
“A small ways, yes, but not too much. And then perhaps we can have supper together?”
“Sure. Should I go home and change first?”
Khemkaeng eyed her outfit, smiling, and then shook his head. “No. You look very lovely. And yet a comfortable dress.” Stammering a bit, he explained. “At this Buddhist temple, it is obligatory that lady tourists must wear modest attire. Dresses must be longer, like yours. Or pants that are . . .” He fumbled again. “You know, not shorts?”
“Oh.” She stood up and did a slow pirouette. “So I pass inspection?”
“Yes, always.” He glanced down at his own impeccable dress trousers. “And I as well, I trust.” A grin. “I will take off this tie and then we will be comfortable together.”
Rachel Marie felt a twinge of concern as she slipped into the passenger seat. The parking lot was mostly empty, but she was timid about broadcasting the fact that she was going out on social excursions with Bangkok Christian School’s vice principal. Or that she was regularly tempted to fling both arms around his neck and lay a knee-buckling California kiss on the poor guy.
Traffic was nightmarish as he threaded their way west on Sukhumvit Road, which ran through most of downtown Bangkok. “Lumphini Park is that way.” He pointed to their left. “There is Thai boxing–we call it muay thai–and also groups that practice meditation and Chinese folk dancing. Very peaceful.” He honked and changed lanes, adding: “Close to Narai Hotel. Do you remember? The pizza?”
“I remember the pizza,” she sighed dramatically, injecting a trace of girlish fulfilled fantasy satisfaction into her voice and wondering if he would notice. “Tell me about this Reclining Buddha.”
“It is very big. More than one hundred thirty feet in length. All next to the Wat Phra Kaeo.”
“What’s that?”
Khemkaeng downshifted as a green bus abruptly cut in front of them. “You know that wat means temple?”
“Uh huh.”
The traffic stopped completely and a frenzied din of honking burst forth all around them. He shrugged, unworried. “Wat Phra Kaeo is considered the most holy of Buddhist places in our land. Nearly seven hundred years old. It is the home of the Emerald Buddha, very beautiful, green, carved from jade.”
“Why do they call it the Emerald Buddha when it’s made of jade?”
He laughed. “The ‘emerald’ tells us its color, not the gem stone.”
“Oh.”
Traffic loosened up as motorcycles scurried past them. “Three times every year our monarch comes to Wat Phra Kaeo and performs the duty of changing the cloak. Once for each season: summer, winter, or rainy.” He glanced over at her, enjoying himself. “Thai people believe that Emerald Buddha provides protection for our country.”
They parked, and Rachel Marie fished in her tiny purse for the posted entrance fee.
“Allow me to help,” Khemkaeng offered. “Since I can come in for no charge.”
“Okay.” She grinned at him, grateful for the generosity.
They spent a leisurely two hours perusing the magnificent edifices on the massive estate. There were regal temples, all in the ornate pagoda style making Bangkok a world-class tourist site. The complex housed hundreds of images, both of Lord Buddha and also the various demon gods and mythical giants that were part of the kingdom’s religious heritage.
“Our many monarchs have all made these temples part of their contribution to the religion of Thailand,” he told her, pointing to a row of marble steps. “The various dynasties–Chakri, Rama–have repaired or built new palaces and temples here.”
They entered the main temple area after carefully removing their shoes as directed by prominent signs in Thai and English. “Sit as I show you,” Khemkaeng instructed as they entered the darkened wat, gloomy and incense-drenched in the late afternoon shadows. Rachel Marie complied, sitting on the hardwood floor and facing the enigmatic image of the Buddha.
He whispered again. “Do in this manner.” Sitting in a sideways posture, he awkwardly folded his legs so his feet pointed toward the exit. A nearby fan stirred some cool air which provided tepid relief to the worshipers and tourists.
“How come we sit that way?” she wanted to know as the pair hunted amidst a pile of hundreds of shoes out on the verandah.
Khemkaeng took her hand and helped her down the slippery stone steps. “In our country, the foot is the most defiling of body parts. One must never point the foot at another person, and especially not to a priest or an image of Buddha.”
“So if I’m sitting, say, on a platform at church, I shouldn’t cross my legs?”
He nodded, then added in a low-key way: “It is best to not do it. If you can remember. Simply keep your legs together and both feet on the floor.”
“Huh.” She managed a grin despite the still wilting heat outside. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember.”
It was a short trip over to the Reclining Buddha, the massive golden image of the fabled spiritual mystic, posing on his side with an expression of deep reflection. The feet of the Buddha were made of mother-of-pearl, and Rachel Marie was awed by the handiwork and the reverence of Thai onlookers.
“I remember my brother telling me about this,” she said at last as they walked back to the car. “He couldn’t get over the magnitude of it.”
“Yes, it is very impressive.”
They motored across the Phra Pok Klao Bridge and she pressed her face against the left-side window, looking down at the long tail boats and slow-moving junks far below. “Is the water really polluted?” She remembered a fragment from the TV news story the other night.
He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the sporadic starts and stops of the blue-and-pink taxicab in front of them. “Yes, quite toxic, I believe. If you wish for a swimming adventure, we will find someplace else.”
The innocent remark caused a twinge of guilt as she remembered Nigel and his palatial apartment and pool. She pushed the thought of the elegant Brit out of her mind. “Where are we going?”
Khemkaeng motioned to the right where a large garden area came into view. “This is a very nice place. You will like their food.”
The eating area was upstairs in a huge restored ballroom featuring teakwood tables and carved ornaments. Lazy overhead fans created a pleasant tropical breeze, and the couple sipped on mango juice and watched a trio of beautiful dancers wearing the traditional pointed Thai headdresses and brass f
inger stalls, six-inch curved, ornamental fingernails.
“Their hand gestures relate a story from old history in Thailand,” he explained. “I have never studied this, but a scholar could tell how their movements portray an event in the life of Buddha or a king.”
Rachel Marie picked carefully at the plate of grilled fish and curry paste steamed in banana leaves. “What do you call this again?”
“In Thai, we say bhlaa for fish. Do you like it?”
She nodded, her mouth filled with the flavor. “Yes, very much. Thanks for picking this.”
The waitress came over, bowing slightly. “Do you wish dessert?”
Rachel Marie leaned her head against Khemkaeng’s shoulder in a teasing, supplicating gesture. “You’re going to hate me . . .”
“Never.” He shook his head stoutly. “Why do you say such a thing?”
“Because I want some ice cream. I know they probably have a million marvelous Thai desserts, but my California DNA is asserting itself tonight.”
Khemkaeng made a self-deprecating motion to indicate he was baffled by the American reference, but didn’t mind. “Of course. Ice cream it shall be.” He scanned the menu, then closed it. “Mee ice-a cream mai krahp?”
The restaurant employee nodded. “Mee kah.” She padded away, and soon returned with two heaping bowls of the frosty treat.
Rachel Marie took an obscenely large gulp and savored the freezing pleasure as it slipped down her throat. “There. I think I can make it in your country, Khemkaeng, if I have ice cream once a week.”
He suppressed a smile. “If that keeps you here, Miss Stone, then I shall order it and personally bring it to Orchid Garden Apartments, Number 305.”
“You do that.”
The restaurant was sparsely populated by the time they had finished dessert and lingered over a shared extra glass of mango slush. “So . . .” Rachel Marie leaned across the table, a teasing smile dancing across her face. “Do you have a hard Bible question for Miss Stone? Otherwise you have to take me straightaway to Apartment Number 305 and then say goodnight.”
Khemkaeng laughed, but quickly drew sober. “Yes. I have thought about this many times, but now more yet.”
“Okay.”
He eyed her. “You are a valued friend.”
Her pulse fluttered. “Is that our Bible topic?”
“No.” He managed a smile. “But thank you, Rachel Marie, for all you have explained.”
“Sure.”
He pushed the dishes to the side and looked directly at her. “In the end, what is it that makes a person a Christian?” His eyes were sober in the pale lighting. “I mean, a man or woman studies God’s Word. They find out many things. But knowing it, I think, is not the same as being it. Is it?” He gestured toward the distant city, its evening lights now twinkling through the warm October air. “Say, at our Chulalongkorn University. We have many professors who have studied abroad. Perhaps they have explored your Christian Bible as literature. They have read the stories–you know, Moses and Noah and the man who was with lions.”
“Daniel.” She grinned.
“Yes. And of course, Jesus Christ. How he came to this world and then was killed and so on. And, in the Bible teaching, is now alive once again. And also the philosophies of which he taught.”
“Uh huh.”
“So, you see, they know these things. But that does not mean they are Christian men now. They simply know facts.”
“Yeah.” Rachel Marie nodded, realizing that this might be an important moment.
“So what is the reality?” Khemkaeng tried to bring his thoughts into focus. “At what point does knowledge become a different thing . . . and suddenly you are not a man of this world, but a Christian man? What does a person do that causes the change?”
More than anything, Rachel Marie wanted to reach across the table and take his hand again—to recreate the glorious blend of spiritual unity and physical closeness that her heart desperately craved. But at this moment, it seemed like the spiritual space between them, these holy inches, needed to remain pure and untouched by human desires. “Do you wish to be a Christian, Khemkaeng?”
The question hung in the air as she held her breath, praying inwardly.
“I believe so,” he replied. “If the things you have said to me in these weeks are true, Rachel Marie–and I surely believe . . . in you–then it is the right thing.” There was a ghost of a smile. “But again, what would I do for this to happen?”
She hesitated, reluctant for any ill-chosen word of hers to foul this holy moment of choice. “When Pastor Mike comes in two weeks, for our Week of Spiritual Focus, I’m sure his talks will explore this idea. He can tell you better than I can.” It sounded like a lame dodge, and she felt a reluctant moment of shame.
“Please, Rachel Marie.” He shook his head. “You are my closest friend at BCS. And your Christian faith is very genuine and strong in your life. We all see it. I wish to know your thoughts.”
“All right.” Making a decision, Rachel Marie did reach over and squeeze his hand for just a moment, and then let go. “Here is what I believe. To know of Jesus Christ is one matter. Of course, you have this knowledge. All of our students at BCS, at least by the time they are in high school, have been instructed in these beliefs: that he was born of a virgin, that he lived and taught and loved the people of his world, that he died on the cross. And that Christianity teaches he came to life again and is now in heaven, preparing a new world for those who love him.”
“Yes.”
“But the difference is this. Do you choose to put your life into the hands of this man, this Jesus? Do you believe that his death at Calvary paid the price of your sins? And that because you accept him to be the one who saves you, you may have an eternal life with him in heaven and have him as your king?”
Khemkaeng weighed this. “So it is the deciding that makes a person Christian?”
“Yes.” She nodded, smiling in relief at the simplicity of it all.
He pondered silently. “You are such a fine teacher. Do you possibly have . . . a classroom illustration that will help me to understand even better?”
Rachel Marie’s mind hummed, anxious but pleased. “Well, I can probably think of a better one later,” she grinned. “Especially if you bring me to this same restaurant another time.”
“Of course.”
“But how about this?” She scooted her chair closer. “When I came out here in August, I had to fly on a plane. Now, I knew all about planes. I knew enough about science to understand that something heavier than air can still fly, and that the Airbus company makes good planes. I guess I knew that airline pilots receive training for hundreds of hours before there are passengers.”
“Yes, certainly.”
She smiled. “But if I stayed at home, choosing only to believe the theory that a plane could bring me to Thailand”–she hesitated–“and to you, I would still be in America. However, when I acted on my belief, and actually walked onto the plane and fastened my seatbelt and said, ‘Let’s go,’ that’s when it happened.”
He digested this. “So Christianity is when you make the choice that your life is now depending on this belief?”
“Uh huh.” Rachel Marie shook her head, suddenly impatient with her own illustration. “That’s not a very good lesson.”
“No, it is excellent. I believe I understand.”
“I know, but this is what I want to say,” she corrected. “I mean, riding on a plane, who cares about that? The fact is that God the Father and Jesus, his Son, are filled with love for you. Right now, Wednesday, tonight. They know you, they chose you to be part of their family, and now they pursue you with their love. The strongest love that a man and woman might have for each other . . .” Her voice faltered and she had to look away. “The strongest emotions that people feel when they are in love are nothing compared with how much Jesus desires to say to you: ‘Khemkaeng, I want you to be with me forever.’ And when you decide, in a public way, that you trus
t your destiny to this Jesus, then you are a Christian.”
The weightiness of her explanation seized him. “I . . . it is actually a very big gamble.”
“Yes. It really is.” She wanted to open up and describe her own past turmoil about a good man named Adrian Morris, on the other side of this planet, who was not able or willing to place all his chips on the table, who at this very moment was still hedging his bets and observing from the sidelines. But she kept her focus on Khemkaeng, this noble soul who sat in the twilight of a Buddhist world thinking about Calvary and the saving power of a Jewish teacher’s spilled blood.
Rachel Marie smiled affectionately, squeezing his hand for just a moment. “Come, my dear friend. Take your American lady friend home to Apartment 305. You have many things to think about, and I have twenty-eight Thai children who expect their teacher to sleep eight hours each night and be filled with good cheer when they greet me.”
“So true.” The poignant spell was pleasantly broken, and he paid the check, waving away her offered coins.
It was a slow walk to the car, and he seemed to be delaying for some reason. After glancing across the top of her head at the twinkling stars surrounding the palm trees and high-rise luxury hotels fronting the Chao Phraya, he put an arm around her shoulders as they walked the last few steps to the car. She blushed happily and reciprocated with her own around his waist. It was a sweet and comforting sensation, too quickly cut short as he opened up her car door.
* * *
At lunch a few days later, Benjamin strolled past Rachel Marie’s table as she was nibbling on the kitchen’s delicious egg salad sandwich. “Got the chlorine washed out of those pretty locks?” he grinned impishly.
She laughed, feeling a female flush in reliving the delightful morning by the pool and the sparkling repartee of the two jocular Londoners. “Pretty much.” Another bite. “That was a lot of fun, Benjie.”
He pulled up a chair. “Our joint friend gave me a buzz this a.m. Says that your team, the whoevers, are down to some final game in that match. Do they play best of seven?”
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 15