Grady applauded with his eyes. “So that was your day, huh?”
“Not all of it. The best came last. I wanted to go to the Wat Po, that temple William spoke of last night. To see where he stole food from the big reclining buddha. I asked a man on the street for directions but he must have misunderstood, or, now that I think of it, perhaps he didn’t, because I ended up in an out-of-the-way patch of overgrown plants and trees where there was a stone shrine about the size of a doghouse and what must have been a thousand phalluses.”
“You’re making this up.”
“I am not.”
“It sounds invented.”
“Maybe that’s because the word phalluses didn’t exactly trip off my tongue.” Her grin was a fraction wicked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever before used the word. It’s self-conscious and archeological. Would you mind if I synonym it with something more comfortable, like dick, for instance?”
“Whatever.” Grady was enjoying this just exposed side of her.
“Well, as I said, there was this little untended gardenlike area with a shrine in it, and all around were these dicks. Hundreds and hundreds of idealized hard-ons, much, much, and I mean much larger than life. Picture if you will”—Grady was indeed picturing—“a shiny red lacquered dick about seven feet tall propped against a tree. There were several like that.”
“Bet you got out of there in a hurry.”
“That was my initial inclination but I brazened it out. The fat, stubbier wooden dicks nearest the shrine had a lot of bamboo joss sticks stuck in them. It looked painful. And I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the old wooden ones that had tumbled over and were rotting away.”
Grady went into the bathroom and washed up. Inspecting in the mirror he realized that his shave wasn’t lasting as long as his shaves usually did. The humidity was to blame, he decided. Also decided against a second shave inasmuch as there’d been morning lovemaking. Thought they might try for an American restaurant that night. Two consecutive nights of authentic Thai would be an overdose. Wondered what William was doing. He’d sort of expected they’d be hearing from William.
“Are you still going out looking for those sapphires tomorrow?” Julia called in to him.
“Yeah, why?”
“Just asking.”
The next two days, Friday and Saturday, went about the same.
While Grady sought the yellow sapphires, Julia plied the mystical mélange of Bangkok. She had spiritual readings with three maw dos (doctors who see) and came within a fraction of impulse of getting a protective tattoo. When she told Grady about how close she’d come to having a fierce-looking rendition of Mae Khongha, “Mother of Water,” inked forever on her right buttock to ward off evil spirits, she expected reproach. However, all she got from him was a rather unimpressed really?
Grady figured she was helping herself to such a concentrated dose of spiritual beliefs that she’d soon wear away her enthusiasm. Besides, the phase would dissipate once they were back in San Francisco out of range of so much exposure.
On Sunday they slept late and took an afternoon walk to Lumpini Park, named for Buddha’s birthplace, where they watched the flying of intricately constructed kites and looping, diving aerial fights between certain ones designated male and female.
Monday everything happened.
Right off, the first dealer Grady called on had the round-cut yellow sapphires. Not the entire forty-stone suite but about thirty of it with enough matching rough on hand to finish the rest. Though the dealer must have gathered that Grady was eager for these yellows, he didn’t take advantage, asked a fair price and was reciprocally answered by Grady paying him half then and there and pledging the balance in cash upon delivery of the goods in San Francisco within the month.
Done?
Done.
Grady, light of heart, hurried back to the Oriental. Catching a flight home foremost in his mind. He’d spend tomorrow night getting over lag in his own bed.
Julia wasn’t at the hotel. Grady hoped she wouldn’t be out all day. He tried phoning Singapore Airlines for a reservation. Its circuits were busy. Decided he might as well pack, his things, not hers. He wouldn’t even attempt to achieve the degree of neatness she’d insist on. He was stuffing worn-once socks and rolls of belts into the toes of shoes when the phone chirped. It would be Julia, he thought, using her good sense, calling in.
But it was William.
As few as possible words were wasted on their opening exchange. William was anxious to tell him: “Your goods are ready.”
Unexpected marvelous news. Grady had been under the impression the rubies wouldn’t be cut for a month or more. “How do they look?” he asked, toning down his anticipation.
“You need to see.”
“Will you bring them or what?”
“Best you come here.”
“I’m on my way.” And only a few minutes later Grady was outside the hotel, an impatient fourth in the waiting order for a taxi. He’d improved his standing to next when a taxi arrived to deposit Julia. Grady told her where he was off to and why. She reminded him that William had advised taking a water taxi. Grady had forgotten that. The doorman directed them to the hotel’s own pier on the river a short walk away.
A dozen or so water taxis were there, awaiting a fare. They were very similar, about twenty feet long with shallow drafts and sharp, extended, upswept prows. Black canopies above their seating areas. Three wide boards situated from side to side served as seats for passengers, six the normal limit, two behind two behind two. The taxis appeared well kept, were painted an olive shade with an aqua and black stripe at the waterline.
The only apparent difference among them was the drivers, particularly the way they were dressed. The orchid-patterned shirt and orange sailor hat one driver had on drew Grady’s and Julia’s attention to him.
They stepped aboard his taxi, chose the seat nearest the stern. Grady again used William’s business card to convey the desired destination. The driver held the card about six inches from his eyes, frowned at it and then all at once transformed his face from frown to smile—an unfortunate smile that activated a lot of chasmic creases and revealed that five of his front teeth, three lowers and two uppers, were no longer with him. He was, Grady now saw, a much older man, dressed a bit too gaily for his years. The turned-down brim of his orange sailor hat nearly concealed his eyes, his lids were a watery pink, the whites gone creamy. Possibly he wasn’t as old as he looked, Grady thought, possibly the sun had taken an early extreme toll on him, if not the sun a dissipating life. Didn’t matter, Grady told himself, in fact, an older man might be a more experienced driver and would know this river, which appeared wide and something to be reckoned with now that it was slipping directly below just a thin hull away.
The driver nonchalantly started up the engine, gave it more than ample throttle, causing two shotlike pops from the exhaust. The water at the stern riled up, as though angry at having been awakened. For a long moment the driver kept the boat in place.
Grady expected they would gradually pull away from the pier, not get up to any appreciable speed until they were out a ways. And even then it would be slow going.
However, the engine was allowed to have its way all at once. The boat leaped forward, its prow sprang up. A sharp, banking turn was executed and they were under way, headed upriver, skimming along at what Grady guessed had to be a good twenty miles an hour. He glanced back to confirm the driver, who seemed in complete control of both himself and the craft. Grady also took in the engine. It was a small, inline, six-cylinder Chevrolet engine from a midfifties model. A hundred horsepower perhaps, plenty of go. It was mounted on a long drive shaft that extended down into the water. On the business end of the shaft was the propeller. The boat had no rudder. That which propelled it also steered it by being swiveled to the left or right, something the gambrel device allowed. Grady, adequately assured that nothing was amiss, settled down, hugged Julia to him and took in the near shore. Noticed, among numerou
s other worth-noticing things, a woman washing clothes in the river a short ways from another woman taking a drink from the river not far from still another woman urinating in it.
Just before coming to the Phrapinklao Bridge the driver cut across the river to its west bank for the Klong Bangkok Noi, which was only a third as wide as the river but still a major waterway. After five miles of the Bangkok Noi a change of course to be on the Klong Bang Kruat, and after only three-quarters of a mile came a lesser canal followed by a swift series of lefts and rights within a bewildering network of ways that were hardly wider than water-filled ditches. A final hairpin turn at no letup of speed and there it was again.
The Lady So Remembered Gem-Cutting Factory.
As William had predicted the trip by water taxi had taken only about half the time and had certainly been more comfortable.
Grady told the driver to wait. His intention was to be there with William as briefly as politeness would allow, keep this strictly business, so they could get back to the hotel, make flight reservations, pack and check out. Perhaps there’d be time for a nice dinner before heading for the airport.
William was in his office, practically lying back in his desk chair with his crossed legs up, eyes closed, face up to the ceiling. Grady and Julia were within a few feet of him before he sensed their presence. He stood immediately. He and Grady did a handshake. Julia, as though William was a longtime dear friend, surprised him with cheek kisses. Which Grady thought was odd of her. He got right to the rubies.
They were lying on a white sorting pad on the desk. Four stones with their weights noted.
An oval, two rounds and a cabochon.
The oval at 6.25 carats was largest and, as good fortune would have it, the best of the faceted. But not by much. The two rounds at 3.95 carats each were also beauties. And the fat, smooth hump of the 10.60-carat cabochon was glowing, as though it had its own furnace.
Grady examined the oval with his ten-power loupe. Saw how clean it was, no obvious inclusions, only a grid of silk that ran vertically so it was barely visible, a mere single thread lost in the red brilliance of the stone.
As for the cut, not even Merzbacker could have improved on it. Not a sign of grain on its facets, sharply defined edges and corners, perfectly even girdle all around. The quality of the cut no doubt had much to do with the stone’s extraordinary color and brilliance. Grady felt his heart celebrating. “A beautiful make,” he remarked. “Whoever cut it sure as hell knew what he was doing.”
No comment from William.
“I’d like to meet the guy.”
Still nothing from William.
Grady got it. “You did the cut, right?”
William modestly admitted he had.
At once Julia was interested, wanted to have a look with the loupe, was enthusiastic about what she saw. “How beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I can’t see a hint of the awful purple you so dreaded, and you know what an eye for color I have. What a red! Simply beautiful!” She took her time, examined all four stones and came within a word of the mistake of complimenting the little pile of overage, chips and such and what waste was left of where the rough had been zoned. “What a marvelous job you did,” she told William. “You must have worked day and night.”
“I got into it and couldn’t stop,” William said.
“I thought you looked a little tired,” Julia said and turned to Grady to prompt him to join her sympathy. “Poor William,” she said.
“Yeah,” Grady said while preoccupied with the two rounds, thinking that their match in size and color increased their value considerably.
“When will you be returning to San Francisco?” William asked.
“Sometime tonight,” Grady replied.
“Do we have reservations?” Julia asked, concerned.
“I doubt we’ll have a problem,” Grady told her.
“Satisfied?” William asked Grady, referring to the stones.
“Very,” Grady said.
He paid William the amount they’d agreed on, plus an additional 10 percent that he insisted William accept for best effort and all. “You’re one hell of a cutter,” he said, “we’re going to be doing a lot of business.”
William wrapped the stones with cotton and placed each in the folds of a separate yellow-lined briefke, the kind normally used to carry rubies, put the four briefkes into a bright red chamois drawstring pouch, wound and tied the drawstring shut. Handed the pouch over to Grady, who put it in his shirt pocket.
William walked them out to the waiting water taxi.
Farewell cheek kisses by Julia.
Thanks and a parting handshake from Grady.
The taxi got under way. When it reached the bend, Julia looked back, saw William was still on the dock watching them go. It caused a catch in her throat.
The first leg of the return trip, that twisting maze of narrow canals, went without incident. Grady couldn’t recall ever being so high on life, so receptive to the brighter side of everything offered to his eyes. The ordinary foliage, wide open water lilies at the foot of the banks, the sun striking on half-hidden teak houses, a woman chasing a hen, which would be supper. His, Grady’s, was a more prosperous point of view. He could afford to be generous with appreciation now, with those rubies there in his shirt pocket next to his heart.
What a day!
What a splendid world!
His only regret was having ever been skeptical of the piece of ruby rough. He wished, like Julia, he’d believed in it all the way. He’d owed it that. But wasn’t it her inexperience with such matters that had allowed her the faith, while his time in the heat of the trade had cooked him to overdone cynicism? Explanation or excuse?
Anyway, glory be, he had in his pocket what he figured was a million profit, give or take a hundred thousand. The cabochon alone was worth at dealer’s price as much as he’d paid the rebel woman in Rangoon for the rough. Buddha bless her! Please see that her next ten lives are soft ones.
Grady pinched himself by patting his shirt pocket, proving the red pouch was truly there.
A believer all the way, he thought.
There would have been profit of a different kind in that.
And wasn’t that a good-looking bunch of pigs snouting around in the shade of that house? Best of luck, pigs.
By then, the water taxi had reached the Klong Bang Kruat, where the driver took a right instead of the left that would have been the way they’d come. Grady sent him a questioning look and interpreted what he got back in approximate English that the river was a couple of miles ahead and going downstream on it would be faster and easier. Grady surmised from that the reason they hadn’t come this way earlier was the river part of the trip would have been much longer and slower, upstream going. He relaxed, returned to his stratospheric mood, taking in the step-up of color and activity there along the klong.
It was like a main street of water, about four lanes wide, in some places less than that, depending on how much the structures along it extended out. Every inch of frontage was taken up, crammed by one- and two-story buildings—houses, places of business, combinations of both. There was no unity to the architecture unless it was its dependency on pilings. Pilings of varying heights studded up by the hundreds along both sides. Even the telephone poles were similar uprights standing awry in the water, as though a gigantic someone had just carelessly stuck them there and strung wires from top to top for support. A confusion of wood wherever one looked, turned a prevailing shade of brown from weather and years. Wood asked to fight and outlast its nemesis, water, some of it sorry wood, dead and eaten, needing to be replaced for the sake of its function as a ramp, a dock, a porch, to accommodate the serving of bowls of noodles, the pumping of gasoline, all sorts of everyday neighborhood commerce.
Added to this were the animate, the inhabitants of the klong, those who lived by it, spent hours of each day upon it in one kind of craft or another, not many water taxis, small raw wood boats the most common. Powered only by effort and paddle
, the latter were constructed with an equally blunt stern and bow so the person aboard needed only to turn in place for a 180-degree change of direction. So many boats! Scurrying back and forth across the klong, vending from place to place, loaded to the gunwales with eggplants and moongbeans, durians and starfruit, and all kinds of fish, including pomfret, hard sun-dried prawns and crispy wafers of squid. Other boats clustered here and there for the exchange of gossip.
Evidently, Grady thought, to these people a paddle on the klong was equal to a neighborhood stroll. He was expressing that observation to Julia when the speedboat went by. Doing an insolent forty, and, judging from its sleek lines and the vigorous growl of its engine, it could do more. It was the kind of fiberglass, stern-driven speedboat usually used for water-skiing. In fact, when it was by, Grady saw a pair of bright blue water skis sticking up out of the aft cockpit, and he believed that explained its incongruous presence there on the klong. The two men in it were headed for the river to water-ski.
That didn’t, however, excuse how reckless they were being, Grady thought. No regard for anyone’s safety, not even their own at the rate they were going. Make way for us or else was their attitude. Grady disliked them for it, especially when he noticed how much trouble the smaller boats were having as they coped with the speedboat’s wake, how they were abruptly bobbed up on the crest of it and had all they could do to keep from overturning. Even the water taxi was sharply pitched by it, causing the driver to mumble a rapid string of words in Thai that Grady was sure weren’t blessings.
Grady watched the speedboat cause the same bullyish disruption all the way down the klong until it was a small white, diminishing thing that a distant bend eliminated. He wished those two idiots lousy skiing, a lot of high speed, painful smacking falls, and he thought thanks to whatever power was in charge of encounters for making that the last he’d ever see of them.
18mm Blues Page 22