She gave Khemkaeng a nudge. “Go. That’s your job.”
Smiling, he walked up to the platform. He said a few words in Thai, and the pastor quickly switched and translated going the other direction. “My name is Khemkaeng and I am from Bangkok Christian School. So it is very good to visit another school also like ours; we are surely partners in doing God’s work. I have my special friend Rachel Marie here”–he pointed in her direction–“and also her brother and his wife. Her brother–his name is Bucky–came as a high school student to your school fifteen years ago and helped to build your girls’ dormitory.”
There was a cheerful buzz on the female side of the sanctuary. A few of the older girls clapped and waved at Bucky, who grinned in response.
Khemkaeng hesitated before continuing in his native language, slowly and then with growing confidence. Rachel Marie, unable to comprehend any of it, gazed around the beautiful church structure with its floor-to-ceiling windows.
All at once the entire student body began to applaud. The principal and Thai pastor were also clapping, big smiles on their faces.
“What in the world did he say?” Bucky slid closer to his sister.
“No idea.”
Students all around her were bobbing their heads and grinning enthusiastically as they began to file out. A boy with dark, mischievous eyes pointed at Rachel Marie. “You are girlfriend?”
She could feel her face flushing. “I guess. Is that what he told you?”
“No.” He grew serious. “He say how he make choice to become Christian. Only a few weeks ago. He say that to choose Jesus as Savior is finest moment of his life. He very happy and at peace with his heart. And he say that all of us too, it is good to choose life of serve Jesus.”
“Yes. What he say is very good.” Another boy standing in the aisle gave the three Americans a clumsy thumbs-up gesture.
* * *
That evening the quartet sat outdoors at a McDonald’s in Chiang Mai, drawing out the familiar pleasure of American fast food. “Man, these ice cream cones are just ten baht,” Bucky marveled. “You want another one, sweetie?”
Both girls requested seconds, and he obediently went to the cash register, Thai bills in his hand. Khemkaeng sat next to Rachel Marie, a satisfied smile on his face.
“That was just too much today,” she told him, reaching out and squeezing his hand.
“What?”
“At the school. I mean, you should have seen the kids sitting near us. When you told them about accepting Jesus, wow, that just had such an impact.”
He nodded, a quiet smile creasing his face. “I love to have the opportunity to tell anyone what a good decision it is.”
“That’s great.” Lisa gave him a sisterly pat on the arm. “We’re really proud of you, Khemkaeng.
The girls polished off their bonus desserts and Khemkaeng pointed to his watch. “If we want to sample the night market, we should go.”
The famed bazaar was just a few minutes’ walk, and it was a wonderfully cool time to be outdoors. Chiang Mai offered a more subdued commercial atmosphere than its raucous, neon-sprayed neighbor to the south, and pedestrians could walk the streets without dodging such fearsome traffic. “What can we shop for here?” Rachel Marie wanted to know.
“They offer good bargains on almost everything,” Khemkaeng explained. “Luggage, clothes, souvenirs, watches.”
“Isn’t a lot of what they have just, you know, counterfeit stuff?” Bucky asked.
“Yes, that is true. Some of the watches and jewelry are cheap imitations. The American expression, I think, is ‘knockoff.’ You will see watches with a Rolex name on it, and perhaps only for eight hundred baht. Twenty dollars U.S. But I have heard that a few months after you return home, the gold will wear off and the watch itself does not run. So we must be careful.”
The market was a three-block-long crowded maze of tiny stalls running along Chan Klan Road, where tourists and locals alike dickered cheerfully for discounts. Rachel Marie remembered Khemkaeng’s wry observation, several months earlier, about pirated CDs and DVDs. There were huge piles of the bootleg contraband for sale at rock-bottom prices, along with stolen computer software.
“Hello, madam. Take-a-look.” Hawkers, many of them bored from the stale repetition of selling the same cheap trinkets for years on end, droned the clichéd come-on over and over. “Take-a-look. Best price here, take-a-look.” One boy, barely more than ten, stood next to a glass case filled with ladies’ watches. “Pretty lady,” he chirped. “You are from U.S.? We have all styles for beautiful lady. For you only, special price.”
The cool December air struggled vainly to penetrate inside the crowded lanes, and many vendors had small fans, with electrical cords a bundle of frayed orange snakes running along the ground to various overloaded outlets. “One blown circuit and this whole place will be a bonfire,” Bucky muttered to his wife as he fingered some neckties. “Khemkaeng, what’s a good price for these?”
“Probably one hundred fifty baht. Even one twenty if you try.” He sauntered over and joined in the charade of protesting the price-gouging.
“Paeng mahk!” Bucky quickly ran out of vocabulary ammunition, but the salesman, recognizing a native pro in Khemkaeng, soon gave a grumbling nod and accepted the lower bid.
Several shops had literally hundreds of comedy-themed T-shirts, some with tasteless or offensive messages, and the visitors scurried past, waving their refusals. “Over in this row we can find better clothes.” Khemkaeng led the others down a final alleyway.
A pretty girl who spoke passable English helped Lisa and Rachel Marie dig their way through a tall stack of silk blouses, and they each found one they liked. Most merchants had large calculators handy, and were able to quickly divide Thai prices by thirty-four so American visitors had an idea of dollar comparisons. “Can we get a discount for buying two?” Rachel Marie asked.
“Sure.” Khemkaeng held firm with the young lady, and they finalized on a two-fer fifty baht less than she had first suggested.
“Will these last for a while?” Lisa admired hers in the garish light that dangled from the makeshift ceiling. “I probably won’t be able to fit into this until after the baby gets here.”
“These are quite good quality, actually,” Khemkaeng said. “At that expensive store we visited yesterday, the price would be much higher.”
“Well, that was a lot of hiking just to buy three things,” Bucky laughed as they drove back to the hotel.
“It’s hard to know what to do,” Rachel Marie sighed. “A lot of stuff looks pretty good, and the prices are so cheap. But if something didn’t fit, or didn’t work right, you’d just be stuck. They don’t exactly give out sales receipts or offer anybody a six-month guarantee.”
Khemkaeng slowed down for a traffic light. “And many of the clothing items will shrink severely as soon as a tourist returns home. Many things only fit for the one time and then are too small.”
“Bummer.” Bucky gazed intently out the passenger window, remembering his long-ago trip to the colorful northern city. “Hey, look at that!” A man was puffing up the street, pedaling an actual rickshaw with a customer aboard.
“We call those samlaw,” Khemkaeng explained. “‘Three wheels.’ Only the smaller towns have them now. But it is quieter than the tuk tuks.”
Remaining behind the wheel, Khemkaeng bade the trio goodnight, and again tried to mask his smile as he gave Rachel Marie a demure kiss on the cheek. “The train leaves at four,” he reminded them. “Shall I come around noon, and we can enjoy some lunch and see a few more of our special places of interest?”
“Sounds good.” Rachel Marie hopped out and gave him a goodbye wave as he pulled out of the Mercure parking lot.
They swam a few relaxed laps in the pool, which was in a small elevated courtyard attached to the fourth floor. “Boy, if you lived out here, having access to a pool would be almost a necessity,” Lisa grinned.
“I know.” Rachel Marie pushed away the memory of Ni
gel’s splendid apartment and the elegant poolside evenings with the flirtatious Brit. She had told her brother and Lisa just the barest details, and still flushed with shame over the shallow saga.
* * *
It was a quiet train journey back to Bangkok the following evening. Rachel Marie chatted with the others as the rolling hills and endless rice fields succumbed to the enveloping shadows, but a renewed anxiety crept over her. Having Bucky and Lisa come visit her only reinforced the powerful grip her family held on her heart. All of the Stones were in America. An invisible cord of red-white-and-blue loyalty held them together. Even if those she loved were a spread-out triangle with vertices in L.A., Seattle, and Boston, there was still an intimate closeness that drew her in, more desirable than ever during the waning Christmas holiday.
She remembered Bucky’s advice when the Khemkaeng romance was just a fragile shoot poking out of the earth in search of nourishment. “Let some time go by.” Well, two more months had been torn from the already slender calendar, and she was in more deeply than ever. “I love you’s” had been exchanged. She had met the parents. The word marriage was sitting out there like the proverbial elephant in the room.
“Come on, it’s your turn to play, shorty.” Bucky pointed at the cards in her hand. “Play that seven I’ve been dying to steal. Either toss something in, or concede defeat.”
She forced a smile. “Never. You shall never defeat me, old man.” Gulp.
* * *
The days and weeks of second term began to flow by, and then speed into Rachel Marie’s rearview mirror in a dizzying blur. She and Khemkaeng carefully marked out a kind of unexpressed equilibrium in their relationship, defined by weekly dates at favorite restaurants, church every weekend, and occasional bursts of spontaneous fun. Recalling a schoolgirl crush she once mentioned about a particular actor, Khemkaeng noticed when the star’s new hit film arrived in Bangkok, and surprised her with a visit to the frigid eighth-story Cineplex, complete with popcorn and stadium seating. She sat in the darkened auditorium, watching her hero on the big screen as Thai subtitles blinked out the digital romantic saga to the packed crowd of young Asians.
At school, they maintained a circumspect decorum, though most of the faculty and a good number of the students gave them teasing glances whenever the pair found themselves in proximity. “Kuhn Khemkaeng is fan of Missie Stone,” the Form 6C girls would chant during class breaks, and she would frown at them with mock severity.
“We’re just friends.”
“No, Missie Stone. We think he luff you. He come by room many times to see fan.”
“Come on, you guys. Do your spelling.”
“Okay. But very soon you will be Missie Chaisurivirat.” They would bow over their workbooks, humming the familiar wedding march and stifling giggles.
At church Khemkaeng sat next to her, English Bible open on his lap, thumbing awkwardly from the Old to the New Testament as she whispered directions. He was an avid student, and sometimes scribbled tiny penciled notes in the church bulletin or the margin next to a particular verse. He quickly volunteered to assist as a deacon, and would make his way down the aisle with an offering plate, smiling broadly and nodding to BCS students who were increasingly turning up as visitors each weekend.
The young couple shared a table with the Garveys for a potluck dinner once, and bantered about the sermon while downing plates of gaeng gari–mild Indian-style curry–and bits of somoh, the Thai equivalent of grapefruit. “Pastor Munir is excellent,” Khemkaeng acknowledged. “But he needs to find more stories from Thailand instead of Pakistan.” Everyone laughed. The young minister from Lahore sported long sideburns and invariably wore bright green or purple shirts to services, with carefully chosen neckties that almost vibrated in their startling contrast. But his sermons were well crafted, filled with solid Bible truths and shared with warm humor in a clipped British accent. During the monthly luncheons, he cheerfully made his way from table to table, offering wais, gossiping, and asking about work and families.
“You are all okay?” He came over now, his wife by his side. “How is BCS this week?”
“Teachers are getting antsy by now,” John confessed. “Just two months to go.”
“We see more and more of your high school students here,” the pastor enthused. “This is an answer to prayer, eh?” He turned to Khemkaeng. “And partly due to you, my friend. They see that you are here, and it makes them think: ‘Ah. What has he found?’”
The couple sat later in the shade of a clump of trees at Lumphini Park as children and tourists scurried by in all directions. Khemkaeng had his arm draped along the back of the bench, his hand barely grazing her shoulder. Thai culture frowned on public displays of affection, and since the fabled evening at Le Normandie, his kisses had been regular but guarded. He seemed completely unconcerned about the specter of an approaching deadline, a wrenching moment of parting. It was as if the eight weeks still in their reserve bank were eight years, and that he and she could amble with an aw shucks comfortableness toward some nondescript goal.
It grew to be a regular part of her devotional life now–praying about her future with Khemkaeng and the dwindling grains of sand in her hourglass. “I trust you all the way, Lord God,” she murmured in the darkness as she lay in bed with the cool whispers from the AC blowing across her. “I just keep living here. You know what should happen and how my life should unfold. Glorify your name.”
* * *
It was a rainy Friday morning just a week later when the soft Thai ring tone on her cell phone stirred her to consciousness. It was a birthday tradition that Mom and Dad always called and sang “Happy Birthday,” deliberately warbling out of key and laughing uproariously as they did so. She stumbled out of bed, not turning on the lamp, and picked it up, hearing the soft patter on her window sill.
“Hello.”
“It’s . . . me.”
Just the sound of his voice created a delicious icy thrill up and down her spine. “Adrian? Is that really you?”
Rachel Marie stared for a moment at the tiny screen, a scarlet rush flooding her cheeks. It had been long months since she heard his voice; just the sound of him there in her cramped bedroom, surrounded by a soft monsoon outside, gave her a sense of trepidation.
“Yeah. It’s me.” There was a scratchy pause. “Happy birthday, Rachel Marie.”
“I can’t believe it.” She sat down, trying to force some normalcy into her heart. “How’d you even find this number?”
Adrian forced a chuckle that sounded oddly ill at ease. “It took some hunting. I got on the school’s web site, and they had a number. So I called them yesterday afternoon–I mean, your time, but around midnight over here–and someone there had your cell number in their files. I hope it was all right that they gave it to me.”
“Sure. I mean, of course.” She was babbling, and felt a wave of female nervousness. Dots of sweat popped out on her forehead and she involuntarily moved to feel more of the air conditioner’s calming flow.
“Are you doing all right?”
“Uh huh. Well, you know. School is school. ‘Course, we’re down to not much time left. Less than two months. But it’s been great.”
“Yeah.”
They chatted for a few minutes, and Rachel Marie felt her anxiety subside. Adrian was an old and dear friend, and he had gently broken the unspoken compact of separation and silence. For eight months he had been a gentleman, retreating into monastic seclusion. She had needed space plus an ocean of separation, and he had honored the request. So happy birthday to you. Have a great day and all that.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “Well, I imagine you’ve got to get going. Are you doing anything fun for your birthday?”
“Not really.” Khemkaeng had promised to take her on some kind of surprise outing, but hadn’t given any details. “Maybe . . . some friends’ll take me out or something tonight.”
“Well, look.” His voice, still enticing even when he didn’t try, crackled on the line
. “I’ve left you alone, babe, for a long time here. I figured that was only fair. But it’s your birthday now and I wanted to tell you this. Just so you’d know.”
“What?”
There was a long pause and she waited. “I . . . I’ve been thinking some more about, you know, God and all that.”
He said it almost apologetically, as if acknowledging the status quo. But there it was, worth whatever the words and the eight cents a minute added up to.
Different impulses tore at her mind. So what? What did this mean? After a year of studied nonchalance when she was by his side, pleading to no avail, he was suddenly–on his own–considering it? “Okay. Well . . . that’s good. And how do you feel about it? What are you saying here?”
“I just . . . am really weighing it in my mind. Trying to pray and stuff. You know. I’m not saying I believe all the stuff you used to say. But I’m looking at it. Anyway, I’ll leave you be again, and wish you all the best and happy birthday and everything. But I wanted you to know, and I hope you’ll pray for me.”
So that was it. Still on the sidelines, but wanting her prayers. Weighing the claims of an ex-girlfriend’s spiritual faith, but taking just a gingerly step toward the kingdom. Was there anything at all here of value to her? Did his words alter the Khemkaeng equation which was quickly growing to consume her entire life?
“I . . . I mean, that’s great, Adrian.” Her mouth was dry as her babbling returned. “I just don’t know what to say. . .”
A sharp clap of thunder shook the apartment building, and the line was suddenly dead. She stared at the black screen to see if he would call back. But the announcement was concluded.
Rachel Marie climbed into the shower and simply stood there as the water cascaded over her, joining the Bangkok downpour now flooding her in rising currents of discord. She stared in unseeing confusion at the discolored tile. Now what? The variables already in her life, sweet and wrenching as they were, had just been turned into an eddy of new factors. She loved Khemkaeng. He was so right. He was here. He was a dynamic and committed Christian. There hadn’t been one bad or distressing moment between them since she landed at Suvarnabhumi so many ages ago. And even though it wasn’t yet clear if her life was going to end up being united with his forever, it was still the only avenue she had been praying about.
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 23