End of the Ocean

by Matthew McBride

  Ongard laughed, saying Sage was right. “It very long time,” he said, swerving to another lane and passing a tuk-tuk filled with an odd assortment of characters who cavorted freely with one another, waving and yelling and drinking beer, as Sage, sitting up, asked Ongard, “So after forty-four years do you still love her as much as you did the day you married her?”

  “I love her more.”

  “You do?”

  “I remember what she wore first time when I see her.”

  Sage, feeling Ongard’s love for his wife exude from the front seat, asked what she’d been wearing.

  “Ah, yeah, you test me. OK, very good. She with both her sisters, I remember to this day because she wear red and they wear blue.”

  Sage could only nod.

  “You like satay?”

  “What?”

  “My wife, she cook, we have restaurant. Best chicken satay in Ao Nang. You come try, you like much.”

  “What is it?”

  “What …satay? Chicken satay? Chicken satay, it chicken. But cook on stick.”

  Chicken on a stick sounded good but he asked if they had curry.

  “No chicken curry, only chicken satay. But,” he said, pointing toward the headliner with his finger, looking in the rearview mirror at Sage, “I ask wife make curry special for you, my American friend. I take you there, you like.”

  “Oh, no, no that’s OK, I’m fine.” Rubbing his belly, lying, he said, “I just ate on the plane.”

  “What about beer? You like?”

  “Sure,” Sage said. He liked beer.

  Nodding, switching lanes, Ongard decelerated swiftly and turned onto the crushed gravel of the narrow median that separated both roads and, after changing directions, drove for a mile or so the other way and pulled into a 7-11 and parked between several motorbikes.

  Turning off the ignition and spinning around, Ongard, holding out his hand, told Sage if he gave him some money he would buy him some beer.

  “Oh,” Sage said. “I guess that works.”

  Removing his wallet, trusting Ongard to an extent—because he was a nice man who loved his wife, but more than that, because he looked like Mr. Hahn—Sage pulled out a few colored bills and gave them to Ongard, who, after taking the one he needed, returned the ones he didn’t, bowed, and said he’d be right back.

  “Thank you,” Sage said, then, instinctively, accustomed to correcting himself, said, “I mean, terima kasih,” even though he was not in Bali.

  Ongard, frowning, said, “No no, it khob khun. In Thailand, that mean thank you.”

  “Kop koh?”

  Ongard smiled. “Ah, close, it good but you say krap at end for man, if woman say ka.”

  Sage was confused but too tired to care and too on edge to concern himself with the time it took to learn words from a language he would only speak for two days, maybe three—that’s what Wayne Tender said—so, nodding like he understood just fine, pretending to appreciate this lesson, Sage, growing weary, mouthed, “Kop koh,” again. Ongard, bowing and turning, walked into the store and returned in less than a minute with two tall cans of Chang beer. Handing one to Sage through the back window and opening his own door, he sat down and put on his seatbelt and started the car. Backing out of the parking spot as he opened his beer, Ongard said, “Enjoy first beer in Thailand. Hope you have much good time.”

  “Thank you,” Sage said, opening the beer and taking a drink, wondering how many times his driver had played this game.

  “You like?”

  Sage could not stand the taste, but, in the name of conviviality, he told Ongard it was OK.

  Ongard agreed, driving casually and drinking from his can with real thirst. Smiling in the rearview, he told Sage Chang was his favorite beer.

  After stopping twice more at 7-11, and after two more cans of beer, Ongard, pulling into the parking lot of a small grocery, pointed to Banana House across the street and told Sage they’d arrived.

  “That was fast.”

  “Ongard very good driver.”

  “No doubt about that,” Sage said, looking at the empty cans on the floor. “The best driver I’ve ever had.”

  “In Thailand best driver get best tip.”

  “Of course,” Sage said, handing Ongard one thousand baht, which, according to his calculation, was almost thirty American dollars, enough for a generous tip after subtracting the fare.

  Ongard, accepting the money, looking very pleased, told his American friend to have a very nice day, as Sage, grabbing his backpack, climbed from the car and said goodbye.

  ***

  From inside Banana House they watched him cross the street, coming toward them, the tall American, backpack over his shoulder; nodding politely as motorbikes passed him, he crossed the road and walked into the open-walled bar. The owner—a Thai man with black hair that was very long, worn back in a knot, one of the two men who’d observed him, the other having left through the back door as Sage arrived—poured himself a beer and said, “Hello.”

  Raising the glass he’d just drawn for himself, he offered it to his new friend and said, “We have whiskey and tequila, also.” He then said that maybe, just maybe, for only ten dollars US, and depending on his new customer’s partiality, a gram of marijuana could be had.

  With a subtle beer buzz compliments of Ongard, Sage felt reassured as he took a seat and, kindly, took the beer.

  After abandoning an attempt at kop koh, Sage said, “Afternoon.”

  “Ah, good afternoon,” the bartender said. “You American, yes?”

  “I am.”

  “Yes, I can tell. I have been to America twice before.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. First time when I very young, just child. Second time last year. I go to Montana.”

  “Montana?” Of all the places Sage could envision seeing this man, Montana was the last.

  The bartender laughed. He had told this story before and seemed to expect it.

  “I know,” he said. “What in hell Thai guy doing in Montana?”

  Now Sage laughed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Yeah, yeah that what everybody say. Here,” he said, turning, pointing a long finger toward the poster on the wall behind him. “That my bike. I go to Montana to buy Harley Davidson motorcycle.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Yes, I swear. Look, I have picture.” Unlocking his phone, he showed Sage the screensaver, which was a shot of him on a black Harley Davidson with a stunning blonde behind him, both of their long locks blowing in wind that looked manufactured by a box fan.

  “You’ve got a Harley?”

  “Yes. It was dream my whole life. I save for many years.”

  “Yeah, but …how’d you buy a motorcycle in Montana?”

  “Craig List.”

  Sage burst out laughing, as did the bartender, who, extending his hand, said, “My name Topp, this my bar.”

  “Sage,” he said, standing up, shaking Topp’s hand.

  “Ah, Sage like spice?”

  “Yep—thanks a lot, mom.”

  Topp, cocking his head, said, “What, you no like? That good name.” Smiling very wide, raising his glass, Topp said, “That sound like name of important American.”

  Sage thanked him for the compliment. It was the first time he had heard that.

  “It like name of handsome movie star.”

  That made Sage blush. Then he remembered the picture on Wayne’s phone and when he thought of her in a world without him it reminded him why he was there and what was at stake and how he had to find a man named Puii to, as Wayne put it, “Have him sort Sage out.”

  “How long you in Thailand?”

  “Yeah, you know I’m not sure. Two days, maybe three.”

  “Ah yes. What you do for business?”

  “I dunno; guess you could say I’m semi-retired.”
>
  “Mr. Sage from America, you look very young be retire.”

  “Well not really retired,” laughing under his breath, “unemployed is more like it, but mostly just …going through a ….a kind of life change. Starting over, really. You know, and I always wanted to go to Thailand.”

  Topp said it was a beautiful country. “I live here my whole life.”

  “Right here, in Krabi?” Sage said, pointing down.

  “Yeah, in Ao Nang. I own travel agency also and give tattoo.” Lifting his arms, he showed Sage a collection of ink, some of it his work, some the work of others.

  “Where you stay?”

  Sage had made no plans to stay anywhere. Wayne said to find Puii, and if he wasn’t there get a room somewhere and wait. He’d be back eventually. Until then, walk around, see the city. Rent a motorbike now that he knew what he was doing. He’d also said to get a phone card from a 7-11, something Sage should have done earlier when Ongard gave him two opportunities, but his main goal was Banana House. Then Puii.

  “I hadn’t really thought of that,” Sage said truthfully.

  “Ah, yeah, I rent room also,” he said, pointing up. “Have many room upstair. I rent you room cheap-cheap.”

  “You’ll give me good deal?”

  Topp nodded.

  “Cheap-cheap?”

  “Same same.”

  “Well, OK,” Sage said. “I’ll have to think about that.”

  Topp, winking at him, turning to greet a handsome couple who stood in the open doorway, told Sage he would return.

  Sage said, “OK,” regretting not asking about Puii immediately, but he’d been nervous and he’d wanted to ease into it. Now, after he had established a rapport with Topp, the thought of possibly having to explain a relationship with Puii that did not exist felt awkward.

  Finishing his beer, a thick draft, much better than he’d expected, he thought about her now: Ratri. He thought about her face and how long her dark hair was, how soft it felt against him, and how, when they kissed, her mouth had fit his mouth perfectly in a way that made him realize how imperfect every other kiss he had ever had had been.

  He would do anything to have her, because nothing had ever been more clear to him than the moment he knew he loved her, when he could not see another sunset without her. Then, when she’d whispered in his ear, on the beach, the last night they had together, the way she’d smiled when she said I love you, almost embarrassed, looking down, splashing barefoot through the tide, pink sun behind them, and waves not just crashing but pounding the sand they walked on, he’d known in a way unlike he had ever known anything that every wrong turn he had made in life was to steer him this direction, to that beach, at the end of the ocean, to experience a moment that would define so many moments.

  Sage longed for her. The thought of her was what drove him now; the promise he’d made to build her a bed in the sand, that he would lift her up to touch the moonlight with her fingertips, how they would laugh if stars got tangled in her hair when she played in the sky.

  “You ready more beer?” Topp said.

  Sage, nearly drunk, shrugging, turning up his palms, working up the nerve to bring up Puii, said, “Sure, why not?”

  “This good beer, yes, you like?”

  “I do,” Sage said, being truthful for once. “It’s pretty damn good, actually.”

  “Yeah yeah, it good but not good as Budweiser I know,” Topp laughed. “I know all American drink Budweiser or light, yes?”

  “We do make pretty good beer.”

  Topp agreed, American beer was best beer, and Thai beer was second. He asked Sage if he had a motorcycle.

  “What, you mean back home?”

  Topp said no. “Here, to ride in Thailand. You rent motorcycle, motorbike or scooter if you like.”

  Sage asked where he could rent one. And yes, he said. Of course he knew how to ride.

  “You go cross street, walk down for little way; you will see motorbike for rent. It right beside hostel if you want stay, but not so nice. I give you good deal. Cheap-cheap.”

  “OK, thanks very much, Topp. I’ll see about a motorbike. But I’ll be back, I’m sure.”

  Topp bowed. “That good, I have more beer for you and give you good room. Only five hundred baht.”

  “That sounds great.”

  Standing up as he slammed the remainder of his beer in a gulp, pushing in his barstool, Sage told Topp he would return. Then, leaning close, speaking casually, he said, “Puii isn’t around here, by chance, is he?”

  Topp stopped wiping the counter and looked at him.

  “No, he not. You just miss him.”

  “OK,” Sage said. “Don’t happen to know when he’ll be back?’

  Topp, turning his head to the side, looked confused.

  “Puii,” Sage said. “Do you know when he will return?”

  Topp said, “Yes, he come back tomorrow. Maybe next day.”

  He began wiping the counter again, but did not ask Sage questions. Nor did he seem surprised to be asked about Puii, something that made Sage feel somehow better and worse.

  Sage left, backpack over his shoulder. When he stepped outside it was hot and the sun was bright. He walked down the sidewalk for a few feet before crossing the street. There were small stores as he walked. Many restaurants filled with many tourists. Vendors peddling trinkets on the street.

  He came to a row of buildings, four of them, built close together, most two stories but one of them three. In front of the first one were motorbikes for rent. Sage admired them. One looked like the one he’d ridden in Bali, but the other two were much larger and they looked much faster.

  “A there. I help you?”

  Sage, looking up, saw a tall, lean man, salt and pepper hair, kind features, waving from a set of stairs above him, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  “Hello, I was just looking at your motorbikes.”

  The man nodded. “Sure. Which one ya want?”

  “Not sure. What’s the price?”

  “You American?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Well, why don’t ya come on up and have a beer.”

  Sage said he’d be happy to, but when he got to the top, after shaking hands with the man—Andy, from Australia, owner of the motorbikes—the only beer he saw in the refrigerator was the same beer he’d been forced to drink with Ongard. But then Sage saw A&W root beer in the back so he drank that instead.

  “What brings you to Thailand, mate?”

  “Guess I’ve just always wanted to see this place. Was in a car wreck a while back, got a small settlement, thought I’d do some traveling.”

  Nodding with approval, Andy said, “Brilliant use of the funds.”

  “I thought so.”

  Andy, holding up a finger to excuse himself, turned and said a few words in Thai to a woman who stepped out of a small room where she’d been cooking. After a brief conversation and a few laughs between them, Andy, turning back toward Sage, apologized, saying, “Sorry, that’s my wife. Guess I coulda introduced you, but hell, I’ve always been terrible at that.”

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Sage said. “So I guess you live here, in Thailand?”

  Andy, setting his beer down and using his bottom lip to clean the foam from his top lip, said, “Been here six years.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I love it.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “You a meat eater, Sage?”

  “Well,” Sage said, not exactly sure where this was going, “I’ve been known to knock down a few hamburgers every now and then—don’t tell me there’s a good hamburger joint around here? I’d kill for a good burger. Literally. Kill.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to cuz ya won’t find one here.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Not a decent burger. They don’t know how to make ‘em.”


  Andy told Sage to follow him and they walked into a fashionably cluttered kitchen. It was long and very narrow, but there was a nice stove with a fine grill and it was very clean.

  “I can’t make a burger but I can cook you up a pretty good steak.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Sound good?”

  “I’d pay any price.”

  Andy, chuckling, told Sage the equivalent to ten dollars US ought to do it. “Just enough to pay for the meat. Round here good quality beef ain’t exactly easy ta find.”

  “Bet not,” Sage said, opening his wallet and, using one of his familiar tricks, pulling out the biggest bill he had, one he knew would cover the steak and the root beer, he set it on the counter. Andy, opening a different refrigerator than the one where he kept his beer, withdrew a package of thick cut steaks and, removing two, set them both on the hot grill where they sizzled on command and whiffs of smoke filled the odd-shaped space that was the kitchen.

  Andy told Sage about Krabi. “It’s a gorgeous place. Lotta tourist, lotta food, shopping, lotta beaches.” He turned toward the door, pointing, waving his arm through the air in a grand, sweeping gesture. “And a whole lotta ocean.”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “What?” Andy said. “What the hell are ya waitin’ for?”

  Sage, shrugging, eyes closed, inhaling deeply, said, “Man, I just got here.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Andy said, flipping each steak.

  “How far’s the beach from here?’

  “Hell. Maybe five minutes by motorbike. It’s just down there.”

  “Right,” Sage said. “About that motorbike?”

  “How long ya here for, mate?”

  “Not sure. Couple days.”

  “I’ll give it to ya cheap,” he said, waving his hand as if it were nothing.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Andy, dumping something on the steaks, said, “You know how to ride, yeah?”

  “Sure do. If I can ride in Bali, I can ride anywhere.”

  “Oh yeah? Bali, huh? You been there?”

  “That’s where I just came from.”

  “Well, you’re doing it right, the whole traveling thing.”

  “Nobody goes to Asia. Everyone back home just goes to Mexico.”