“It’s okay,” I say.
Fah smiles and motions to the bed. “Would you like to sit then? It may be more comfortable than standing.”
I sit down on the clean white quilt. The room is about the same size as the one I just left, but this one has a side table with a bright lamp, and freshly painted walls in a light blue just like my old room.
Fah turns on the razor. The buzzing is loud in my ears and the razor tickles my head as I watch my jet black, greasy hairs blemish the white comforter. The buzzing stops.
“All finished,” Fah says.
I reach up and rub my bald head. It feels smooth and kind of prickly. I’ve never been bald before. I wonder what I look like.
Rinzen brings over a pile of orange material and sits down next to me. “You look good as a baldy, kid.”
“Rinzen!” Fah scolds.
She raises her palms. “What? She does.”
“Yes, but some people may not like nicknames that make them feel self-conscious.”
Fah’s right. Nicknames can be hurtful. Like calling my boyfriend a freak because he loves a boy. That was cruel. I was cruel.
“Sorry,” Rinzen apologizes.
I shrug. “It’s okay.” And I mean it. I really don’t care that she called me baldy. Or even that I’m bald. I don’t mind anything right now.
Rinzen sticks her tongue out at Fah.
Fah sticks her tongue out at Rinzen.
I can tell these two are close. Almost like a mother and daughter. I should feel happiness, but the thought skitters away, and I feel empty again.
“Okay, kid, shaving your head was the easy part,” Rinzen says. “Figuring out how to put on these robes may take you all night.”
Fah grins. “Or you could teach her how you worked around it.”
“Hey, don’t diss my hack,” Rinzen laughs. “When you have to get up at the crack of dawn, cutting five minutes off dressing time is heaven.”
Fah rolls her eyes. “This girl will do anything to get more sleep.”
Rinzen winks. “Stick with me, kid. I know all the secrets.” She holds up the robe. “Would you like me to help you put it on?” She gestures to my skimpy clothing. “You can leave that on underneath.”
“Sure.” I had forgotten that I’m basically sitting here in my underwear. I guess this is nothing after strutting my boobs around the hammam with a bunch of strangers.
Fah pipes up. “If you’re at all uncomfortable with this, we can find another way.” Her eyes look concerned, like Mama’s did that day she found me at the lake. Funny that thinking about that doesn’t hurt at all right now.
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”
Rinzen twists the robe around me, and Fah adjusts it to completely cover all of my body and both my shoulders. It’s almost like the jilbab, but this fabric feels heavier.
Rinzen grins. “Now, you look like a monk.”
Fah hands me a pair of flip-flops like the ones they’re both wearing. “Sorry, I should have given these to Rinzen earlier so you didn’t have to traipse across the roof in your bare feet.”
I look down. Huh. I didn’t even notice I wasn’t wearing shoes.
I slip on the flip-flops. “Thank you.”
Rinzen claps her hands together. “Okay, here’s the plan. We all walk out of here together. You look and act like a monk, and no one should recognize you.”
Act like a monk? Should I chant and sing? Do I bless people when I walk by? I have no idea.
“How exactly do I act like a monk?”
Rinzen shrugs. “It’s easy, kid. You just be yourself.”
But I don’t know who that is.
Fah sits next to me. “We may look different on the outside because we wear robes and shave our heads, but inside we are just like everyone else, trying to be the best person we can be.” She gestures to Rinzen. “Do you believe she is a monk?”
I nod.
Rinzen beams. “Awesome! Cause I’ve only been at the monastery for six months!”
Fah smiles. “She is a young monk, just like you.”
I interrupt her. “How young?”
“I’m twenty-five,” Rinzen says.
“How old do you think I am?” I ask.
Rinzen looks at me in disbelief. “You don’t know how old you are?”
“I don’t know how much time has passed. I was fifteen. I may be sixteen now. What day is it?”
“April 7,” Rinzen answers.
I almost killed Dillon on April 3. I wonder if I’ve been dreaming for four days, or if dream days are different.
“You said you may be sixteen,” Fah asks gently. “What day is your birthday?”
“April 17.” I brace myself for the answer to my next question. “Do I look fifteen?”
Fah puts her hand on mine and squeezes. “I will be honest with you, Pema. On the outside, yes, you look like a fifteen-year-old monk. On the inside, though, I think your soul has experienced things that make you much older.”
A strange thought pops into my head. “You said I look like a monk on the outside. What does a monk look like on the inside? Do you have an extra heart or something?”
They both erupt into such joyous laughter that I think I should laugh, but the feeling never arrives.
“You are so delightful, Pema,” Fah chuckles. “Physically our bodies are the same as yours. We do not have an extra heart.” She grins. “Although that would make chores so much easier.” Fah stands. “Now, if you’re ready, we better leave so we can meet the others in time to collect alms.”
Rinzen motions to Fah. “Cause this old broad may not be able to scurry across town as fast as us young things.”
Fah grins. “Just keep thinking that, baby girl. We’ll see if you can keep up with me today. We all know who planted more in the garden last week and who almost passed out from the heat.”
Rinzen frowns. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
Fah’s brown eyes twinkle. “Nope.”
Rinzen cracks open the door and peeks into the hall. She turns back to us. “Looks clear. Let’s get outta here.”
Fah slips out the door. I follow, and Rinzen brings up the rear, closing the door behind her. Fah leads us down the hallway and into the stairwell. We scurry down six flights of stairs and stop in front of a door at the bottom.
“Ready, kid?” Rinzen asks.
“I guess so.” I have no idea what I need to be ready for.
Fah smiles at me. “Remember, Pema, just be yourself.”
Myself? If only I could.
Rinzen must think I’m scared, so she links her arm in mine. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll be right beside you all the way.”
Fah opens the door, and we follow her outside. The sun is just rising, but Bangkok looks like it was awake all night. As we walk along the crowded sidewalk, I’m assaulted by loud noises and pungent smells and smothering heat. Horns honk, and beep, and toot. Scooters and tuk tuks zip past. Two policeman directing traffic are wearing surgical masks to protect against the exhaust lingering in the air. I smell crisp curry, and bitter gasoline, and sweet jasmine. I spy two women wandering through traffic, dressed in long pants and long sleeves, their arms loaded with brightly colored strands of flowers.
“What are those for?” I ask Rinzen, who still has her arm looped through mine.
“Daily offerings for the spirit houses.”
“What’s a spirit house?”
Rinzen pulls me across the busy street, narrowly avoiding a tuk tuk swerving in and out of traffic.
“Thais believe spirits live everywhere- in nature and in buildings, in the city and in the country. So, we construct spirit houses like that one to keep the spirits happy.” She points to what looks like a doll-sized Thai temple built on a concrete pedestal. Pillars surround the square base of the tiny temple and soaring peaks fly up from the pyramid roof. “The flowers, candles, and bottles of water and soda surrounding it are all offerings to the spirits,” she adds.
Fah has scurried around the corner so Rinzen and I hurry to catch up. We pass a mall, a hotel, and more street vendors than I can count selling everything from meat-on-a-stick to beads to flowers to fried crickets.
We pass a complex of buildings with peaked roofs and soaring spires of gold stretching up towards the sky. A row of colorful tuk tuks are lined up in front.
“This is the Grand Palace and Wat Pho,” Rinzen says.
“Wat What?”
She laughs. “Wat Po is how you pronounce it. It’s a temple that houses many chedis and a big, reclining Buddha that’s over 45 meters long.”
I try to think of that in American terms. Forty-five meters is almost 150 feet, or about half a football field. That’s one big Buddha.
“What’s a chedi?”
Rinzen doesn’t seem to mind all my questions. “A chedi is a memorial built to house the ashes of a loved one or a revered person. Usually it’s a bell-shaped tower more than ten stories high, topped with a finial, and ornately covered in mosaic and flower-shaped tiles. They’re really very pretty.”
I try to see them through the gate but only catch a glimpse of colorful tiles as we hurry past. Fah really is a fast walker, and I’m having a hard time keeping up. I’m hot and tired, and Fah still seems fresh and spry. It’s a good thing Rinzen is still holding on to me because I need her support.
Rinzen must notice I’m dragging. “We’re almost there, kid.” She squeezes my arm, and whispers, “Hang in there. You’re doing great.”
The crowds start to thin, and when we round the next corner, the street is deserted except for a line of monks wearing the same orange robes and sporting the same breezy haircut. Fah hurries to fall in line behind them. Rinzen unhooks her arm from mine and gently pushes me in front of her.
“Just walk behind Fah and do what she does,” she whispers.
The monk in front of Fah turns and hands her what looks like three plastic cauldrons left over from Halloween. Fah takes one, and then holds the other two out to me.
“This is your almsbowl,” she explains. “Please give the other one to Rinzen.”
I almost drop them when she hands them to me because they’re so heavy. They must not be made out of plastic after all. Rinzen grabs hers and helps steady mine.
“Hold it against your belly like Fah.”
I turn back around. Fah’s head is bowed, and she’s holding the almsbowl close to her belly with both hands, so I do the same and luckily that gives it more support.
I follow Fah and the line of monks around another corner. I can’t believe how far we’ve walked. No cars or tuk tuks pass us on this street. I don’t even see any people. Just low concrete buildings, and our line of orange, shuffling slowly forward in our flip-flops.
I keep my head bowed, soothed by our slow, rhythmic walking. It’s nice to just walk and not worry about anything. To just be.
We round another corner and I almost run into Fah when she stops. I look up. People are coming out from their houses and lining the road.
“Just do what Fah does,” Rinzen whispers.
Fah approaches a gray-haired woman standing next to a large basket. Keeping her head bowed, Fah opens the lid to her almsbowl. The old woman places a small, plastic baggie inside Fah’s almsbowl and then folds her hands to her chin in prayer. Fah closes the lid, murmurs something to the woman, and then continues on to the next person who is holding a bottle of water. The older woman reaches into her basket, and holds out another baggie.
Rinzen nudges me.
I don’t move.
She gives me a little shove.
I just stand there.
Rinzen walks around me, approaches the older woman, and opens the lid of her almsbowl. The woman drops the baggie inside, and Rinzen closes the lid. Rinzen twists her head around so the older woman can’t see her and mouths, “Your turn, kid.”
The older woman looks down at her basket and pulls out another baggie.
I can do this. Rinzen and Fah said I look like a monk, and I should just act like myself. I walk up and open my lid for the woman. She places the baggie inside. Wafts of jasmine and curry tickle my nose.
“Smells totally awesome,” I whisper to the woman, and she snaps her head up, eyes wide.
Rinzen swoops in, murmurs something that sounds like a prayer, and then pulls me away.
“Ok, kid, a little piece of monk advice,” she giggles as we hurry to catch up to the other monks. “Just take the food and don’t worry about saying anything.”
I wonder if I should stop acting like what I think is myself, but Rinzen just seems tickled, and when I glance back at the older woman, she gives me a big, gap-toothed smile.
CHAPTER 18
I think I know you
I follow Rinzen’s advice and graciously accept whatever is put into my almsbowl without adding any colorful commentary. But soon I’m sweating and starving, and my almsbowl is so heavy that I lean over to set it down.
Rinzen nudges me in the back. “Hold on just a little longer, kid. The monastery’s just around the corner and then we get to eat.”
I trudge forward, wondering if my arms will fall off before we get there, but surprisingly not really caring whether they do or not.
Soon Rinzen is nudging me again. “We’re here, kid,” she whispers. “You made it!”
Thank God. Or Buddha. Or whomever a monk thanks.
We’ve stopped in front of a ten-foot-tall, bright-blue gate connected to a brick wall that extends on down the block. I briefly wonder if I’m headed into a prison but as soon as I walk through the gate, I think this could be heaven. Lush grass cradles acres of trees whose thick branches wing out over the shady paradise. The other monks continue into the monastery but Rinzen stops to lock the gate, so I wait for her.
“You did it, kid!” She grins so wide that one of her cheeks crinkles into a dimple. “You’re safe now.” She gestures to the beautiful grounds. “Welcome to the monastery. Welcome home.”
I try to drum up some relief, or happiness, or even thanks, but I still can’t seem to find any emotion. I just feel empty.
She frowns. “You must be exhausted and starving. Who knows when you’ve last eaten. I’ll give you the tour after we eat. Come on.”
As she leads me deeper into the trees, the canopy of green leaves above us block out the hot sun and rustle a song of greeting in the breeze. The thick grass cushions my steps and tickles my toes. After the crowded streets of Bangkok, this monastery is a beautiful oasis. It should make me happy, but I feel nothing.
We cross a small courtyard where a thirty-foot tall, golden Buddha is perched high on a concrete pedestal, smiling happily down at us. A spirit temple decorated with fresh flowers and a water bottle stands in front of a larger, people-sized temple with soaring peaks and finials.
Rinzen leads me around the Buddha and into what looks like an open, two-story house. The entire bottom floor is tiled and empty of furniture, and the back wall is completely open to an outdoor garden blooming under more trees. Rinzen gestures her head to where the other monks are sitting quietly in the garden.
“Monks eat a little differently,” she whispers. “We use our hands to eat directly out of our almsbowl. No one speaks. And this is the only meal of the day. We’re not supposed to be greedy, but you should eat until you’re full.” She winks at me. “And don’t worry, kid. I always have a secret stash of food if you get hungry later.”
She leads me into the garden, and motions for me sit on a straw mat. She opens her almsbowl and starts eating, so I do the same.
I’m so hungry that I inhale the first baggie I grab. It’s some type of sweet, sticky rice dotted with flecks of mango, and it’s delicious. My fingers are still tacky when I open my next baggie, but I don’t mind. It’s a different way to eat- with no utensils and no talking. It feels a bit animalistic, but at the same time very quiet and meditative as I focus on the flavors I put in my mouth. I try a little of every baggie- fragrant jasmine rice, a savory meat curry, tangy coco
nut, sweet mango- until I’m stuffed.
I’ve just opened a water bottle when Rinzen elbows me gently, mouths “Let’s go,” and then stands. I notice she’s holding her almsbowl, so I grab mine and stand up, too. She leads me away from the house and deeper into the garden. We pass jasmine vines, colorful flowers, and rows of herbs until we reach a tall, chain-link fence. Rinzen opens the gate and motions me through.
“Feeling better?” she asks as I pass by her.
I know I should tell her yes, and thank her for helping me, but for some reason I don’t want to lie. I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, my tummy’s full, and I’m safe, and this robe’s not as hot under the trees here, but I feel nothing. Not better. Not worse. Not sad. Not happy. Just… nothing.”
Rinzen nods, but doesn’t say anything, and I like that. She’s not judging me and she’s not trying to fix me. She’s just here with me, listening. Which is perfect because I didn’t want her to tell me how or why to feel better. I just wanted to tell someone the truth.
She closes the gate, and leads me into an area that is more dirt than grass but is still covered with shade trees. She points to a humongous, grey elephant scratching its shoulder on the trunk of a tree.
I feel like I should be afraid, but I don’t feel any fear. “Should we go back?” I whisper.
Rinzen chuckles. “Not unless we want her to chase us.”
I arch an eyebrow.
She just laughs. “Our job is to feed her, kid.”
The elephant must have heard or smelled us because it lets out an exulted trumpet of joy it and barrels towards us, its floppy ears and gray wrinkles flapping up and down. Before I can even think to run and hide, Rinzen steps in front of me and barks out a command. The elephant slides to a stop ten feet away, swinging its trunk back and forth as a dirt cloud rises around it.
Rinzen sets her almsbowl on the ground, and calmly walks up to this enormous animal that’s twice her height and at least fifty times her weight. She taps the elephant’s knee. The elephant kneels down, and Rinzen launches herself up onto its back, nestles in behind those huge ears, and rests her chin on the elephant’s head.
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