by Zolbrod, Zoe
“What he say?” Piv asked.
“He said it’s pretty safe. That it’s not like drugs.”
“No. Did he say, Why did you do this with Piv, cut open this box? Did he say, I know you did this, now tell to me, how did you do it? And then did you say, Piv takes me to the hotel room where we cut open this box?”
“He didn’t ask for specifics. I don’t even think we talked about you.” Robin sat up, tried to face Piv. He leaned back on his hands. He turned his head away from Robin, away from the little boy, to the spires of the Grand Palace. He sucked his teeth. Robin could see the muscles in his face work, the muscles in his throat. This must be his anger, she thought, but why? She was the one who’d been put on the spot. She was the one trying to be honest. She heard her own voice from a place far away.
“Actually, Piv, he was so unconcerned about you that I wondered if you told him we opened the box, if you two had already had a conversation. But then I decided it didn’t matter. I trusted you anyway.” The way the streetlight hit his profile, Robin could see the rough texture of the edge of Piv’s skin. For the first time she thought he looked unclean. That he needed to scrub harder. She had wanted him to volunteer information, but she couldn’t stop herself from pushing: “But maybe you didn’t even need to snoop around,” she said. “Maybe you knew all along what Abu was doing, and now you’re worried that he thinks you told me.” She gave a rough laugh. “I could have assured him you didn’t. You played that well.”
Piv glowered at her; his eyebrows sunk into hurt angles.
“I did not know,” he whisper-hissed. “I learned with you. You want to cut that open, I take you there. I didn’t want to, but I learned with you.”
He looked away again. Robin’s chest went achey. She didn’t know anyone else in Bangkok. She needed to know him. He was her only friend.
“I’m just trying to tell you it doesn’t matter that much what Abu thinks happened.”
“It matters. I think so. What if he asks me? If he tries to find out in this way if I lie, if he can trust me?”
If they had been alone, she would have wrapped her arms around his humped shoulders. “You can say whatever you want, Piv. I didn’t tell him anything. But he’s not going to ask you. He does trust you. I can tell.” Even without her arms around him, she felt his skin ripple like a horse’s shaking flies off.
“Sure. Okay. No problem.” He grinned at her. “You love me,” he said.
Robin had to bite her mouth to keep herself from smiling. “Sure. Okay. You want me to? No problem,” she said. She pushed his shoulder. He nudged her shoulder back, then straddled her hips and pushed her all the way down, pinning her arms onto the woven straw mat.
“Yeah, sure. You love me.” He smirked, raised his eyebrows suggestively. Then he flopped off her and lay facedown on the mat, his lips still upturned and his eyes closed as he snuggled into the ground.
When it was completely dark they folded the mat and returned it, Piv pocketing the deposit of twenty-five baht. The busy market set up at the edge of the park confused Robin. In the crush of the crowd, textured conversations rising, electric lanterns throwing long shadows in the new dark, she grabbed for Piv. As she cupped his wrist, she saw she wasn’t the only one reaching for him. A Thai woman’s palm brushed under his other elbow. Just a quick sweep, then the hand was gone, but Robin saw it, and the woman was still standing, smiling. Piv stopped. The woman jabbered brightly into his face in Thai. She giggled into her hand. Her prettiness stuck Robin like a burr, but she had no style. When she turned her head to gesture to her girlfriend, Robin eyed the garish hair decoration she wore. The girlfriend was the first to see Robin. Glances flew between the three women like paddled chrome balls, all expressions shifting—Robin’s rose high, haughty, the other two faces turned down-until the sets of eyes all landed on Piv. He hadn’t met the woman’s chatter with a single smile, and he didn’t smile now. He barely nodded. Cool. But he did say something to the duo. Farang, Robin heard. A few more sentences. United States. If only force of will could make her understand what they were saying. Then Piv nodded again, and the two women melted away as she and Piv pushed through the crowd.
“Who was that?” she asked when they paused on a quiet corner.
He shrugged. “One girl. She works where they cut my hair. She doesn’t speak anything. Only speaks Thai.”
Chapter 17
For some days when NokRobin gets back from Singapore, we’re alone. No one calls. We do what we want to, we plan our private business. But this is our business also: After five days, six days, something like that, Abu calls from Africa. Vol calls from somewhere, too. Phone rings sometimes in morning, sometimes in night. Many times when we’re asleep. “Fucking Volcheck. Fucking Vol.” NokRobin always says that, even when she’s not awake. But it’s no problem. Sure. Time is different where they are. Abu calls and tells me to do something: Go to Thai Farmers Bank, pick up money that comes on the wire. Borrow one car again, drive to Wattanayakorn’s house and make some arrangement there. Go to Soi Cowboy, find this other man and get some elephant horn and tiger skin from him. Wrap these in the special way and take them to the airport, to the dock-nothing goes through customs. They’ll fly to Delhi. From there they go to someplace I never heard: Kazakhstan. Then Vol picks them up and takes them to United States, where they want them, where I’ll go soon—that’s what Abu says.
NokRobin says, “But I thought people in Thailand loved elephants. Doesn’t it make your heart break? Don’t you love elephants?”
I tell her that since logging ban, there’s no work for elephants to do. Some can carry tourists, but still there’s too many. They’re not allowed to work in Bangkok anymore, and not all can live very comfortable in the zoo.
“So it’s save the trees and kill the elephants?”
I tell her that where this man gets horns, I don’t know. Maybe that elephant is already dead. Maybe still living, and horns are cut off without hurting the rest.
We have this talk in the daytime, and I can’t talk long, I have to go. I should not be late to meet this man. Sometimes when I’m gone, NokRobin stays inside the room and draws her pictures. This time she says she’ll go to the zoo. But when I come home with enough money for the first necklaces we ask factory to make, she’s very happy.
Next day, we have to go to the airport together. This time not to drop off-better for me to do that alone. This time we’re picking something up, live turtles. Now it’s easy for me to go to the airport. The road is busy, but no problem, and I don’t have to use Vol’s phone, I have my own. I leave NokRobin where the people get on, and when she calls my number, I know what to do. Three men—three thousand, two thousand, one thousand baht—and I get three blue plastic boxes with cuts on the side. It’s very quick. But only two boxes fit in the trunk, unfortunate for me. One box must fit in backseat. When NokRobin gets into the car, we can hear them. Live turtles. They make that noise: ssssss, tttpt. Scratch and hiss. They’re not dead. We know. So when we’re on the road, why does she want to? Why do we need to see this?
“If my credit cards have taught me anything, it’s that you might as well face things,” NokRobin says. “Abu knows we know about this; it’s not like we’re sneaking, so let’s just see what kind of turtle is worth all this money.”
She always want to do this. When I drive, she always want to turn around and make trouble.
“Please, sit. There are some police. You want them to see? Very expensive trouble to get in. Please.”
“Where are they?” She sits straight and looks for police. She tries to be good, sits on her hands-but she still talks. “They probably wouldn’t care about these turtles anyway. That’s the point. No one does. People can just get away with it.”
“They care about the turtles if that’s what can make us give money to them.”
“Listen,” NokRobin says. She whispers. “God, they’re really clattering around in there. You think they’ve been like that the whole flight? They’re angry.” Sh
e presses the button to make the window go down. She wants to make the strong smell leave, but it’s too hot outside, too noisy. She presses window back up. No wind and you can hear the turtles again. “I don’t see any cops. I have to look, Piv.”
She tries to fit through two front seats. She’s too big, gets stuck between. The car is still, stopped in traffic, but she makes it move. Then, pow, she gets through the seats. She’s in the back. Now I’m like one taxi driver; she sits far away from me. I can move the car forward one small amount, so I step on the gas. She looks out the window, one hand on the box.
“I can feel them moving,” she says.
For one moment, she’s calm. Maybe she’s sad, but she rests; she’s quiet. Then she gets too busy. She opens the silver buckles that keep the box closed. She pushes the plastic cover back; it blocks the back window and makes the light turn blue.
“Ugh!” NokRobin puts her hand on mouth to stop this soft scream. Then she says, “Oh my god, they’re poking at each other’s eyes. Piv, look, it’s awful.”
Should NokRobin look at turtles in this car? She should not, I don’t think so. I already told her, too many people, too many police, too many dollars for each one. And she can’t stay calm. She’s too excited to do smooth business. She thinks what’s right, what’s wrong, what’s it mean about her life.
But I hear these turtles—sssss, clack, clack, clack. Very expensive ones, from some island near to Africa, and they’ve already been to many countries; they’re special. Sure, I want to see that. I show NokRobin. Please, study how: how to look, know something, and still be calm.
Traffic goes slow. Stop, go, gas, brake. I move my mirror, very small motion. Six rows of car in front of me. In back of me, in the mirror, turtle shells are the only thing I see. Black melons slide together and go clack, yellow patterns like stars, like batik, something like that. I don’t change my face. Then I see one brown leg, waving. Small claws like bear or tiger has. Then it pokes out its long neck-this is one head. Mr. Turtle!
His face is yellow on the bottom, green on top. He has black and shiny eyes. It’s true, he’s angry. He looks at me, and he doesn’t like to see that. He opens his mouth and makes the sound. I can hear it now. It’s not ssssss, more like hhhheeeee. Other turtle’s foot comes up; Mr. Turtle’s head goes down. Shells all move-clack, clack, clack. NokRobin puts her eye in the mirror, too. It catches me there. We look in the same place, the mirror, and we see each other. I don’t see her lips; I only see her one eye. Gray-green turtle eye. She speaks soft.
“I just wish you’d admit that some things are wrong. You confuse me.” Then her eye goes back to the turtles. “Oh, they keep stepping on each other!” she says.
She reaches her hand-too quick-in there to stop one, to try to push the top turtle away. They all cry loud now—hhhhheee—sounds like some spirits are in this car! NokRobin jerks her hand away. Then she puts her hand back in, tries to move the top turtle again. But he doesn’t like that. From his bottom side comes his red spray. I see it in the mirror.
“Ew,” NokRobin says. The road opens in front of me. I press the gas, go forward. The smell is bad-sharp, painful. That turtle smell fights in my nose.
Why did you look in there? I want to say. I say nothing. I press the windows open. All four windows come down. Maybe NokRobin will yell soon, always some problems about the animals, so I want the wind to blow loud. I don’t want to hear. I move the mirror so I don’t have to see.
I leave her at Star Hotel, and I drive those turtles by myself to one man named Kobjitti, who works for Abu. Better this way. Abu says it’s better if she doesn’t know anything, if she never sees anyone but me. I go to Trombone Club after I’m done with Kobjitti, and there’s Chit, Wanphen, Tick, even Anchan, hair-cutter, who comes there with Kathy—I didn’t know before that they have been friends since the time I introduced them. Everyone there is polite. Everyone there is laughing. Everyone there is happy I came, and they say they want to see me more.
NokRobin is still awake when I come home from taking Anchan and Kathy home, but she doesn’t come to touch me; she doesn’t ask me where I’ve been. She’s on the bed, leaning against that wall with her knees up and one small book open between her legs. Her hair’s up, too. She looks small and lonely there, clean. She tells me Volcheck called to yell more. He wants to know why did I turn my phone off. Abu called to ask how did our business go. She keeps talking very calm—it’s some new voice for NokRobin.
“I asked Abu something: ‘Didn’t you promise us a honeymoon?’ Because he did. And I don’t want to fight with you, Piv. Let’s go away somewhere together where Volcheck can’t call. Abu said it’s okay, there’s nothing else you have to do right now.”
I take one cigarette and sit down on the chair. Most times she stands and hugs me immediate after I come in the door. No hug makes me feel light now. Too light. We look at each other while I’m smoking. Then I get up and go to her.
“Where you want to go?” I say the words into her hair. “What you want to see in my country? We have money now. Phuket, Ko Samui, stay in nice bungalow there. Air condition. Swimming pool.”
She stops our hug to look at me so serious. “I thought you were going to take me home, to meet your family. Don’t you want to do that anymore?”
“Sure, I want to,” I tell her. “I want to take you to my home. Meet my mother, father, sure.” We hug again, but now we lie down. I can put my legs on hers. “But we can go somewhere else, too. For some honeymoon. Hua Hin’s close to my home. We can stay in nice hotel there.”
“Oh, I know where I want to go! I want to go back to Pai. We had such a good time when we were there. It’s so pretty and calm. Can we? Can we go to Pai?”
“Okay,” I tell her. Pai is far to go for only few days, but I feel her body when she says this word. I feel it makes her happy. “Okay. We’ll have one honeymoon there.”
In Pai, NokRobin wants to sleep at Riverside Lodge, the dirty place that we stayed last time, but I say no. I tell her that for honeymoon, I want to sleep at the new resort. They don’t finish building it at that time, but still you can stay, and for cheap price. The rooms are good for NokRobin, good for me. Two big doors open up so you can see hills, you can see fields, but there are screens, there’s air-con if you want that. The big teak bed has mosquito netting, but this is for decoration, to make tourists feel like it’s very mystery, that’s why NokRobin thinks it’s here. There are no bugs inside our room, and the sheets are very clean—you can smell them. This resort is our home for three days. No other guests share it, only one family of workers who live there while they build. Their daughter cleans our room if we want that. Me and NokRobin are peaceful together, romantic, no more problems. When we make love together, I feel exciting. She’s one bird, and even on top of her, I feel us lift. I think about USA, one business there, one Thai-American child. These things I think about when we make something at this very sweet time.
Chapter 18
No first-class buses routed through Pai, so at dawn Robin and Piv climbed on the third-class one. The paved road through this part of the mountains had been laid about twenty years ago, but the rough state of it made it seem biblical, an archaeological find, and the bus staggered and slowed with every gear shift. The marigold and jasmine strung from the rearview mirror jerked so rapidly they looked like hummingbird wings. Rumor was that a bigger, four-lane highway was going through-that was one of the things the Pai Resort was banking on. Looking over the road’s edge at sharply angled jungle, Robin wondered where they would put the extra asphalt. What part of the mountain would they blast away? She mourned it, but was relieved when they switched to a deluxe coach in Chiang Mai.
They arrived in Kanchanaburi Town after nightfall, and there caught one more transport, a lonely songthaew. The moon was just a sliver. Robin knew Piv’s family lived outside the provincial capital, but she hadn’t expected the ride there to be so absolutely black. Next to her, she could feel Piv rolling supplely with the truck’s lurches. To him
, this route was like breathing. He didn’t need to see, but she missed the moon’s glow.
At their stop, she welcomed the electric light emanating from a row of homes. She bounded out of the truck onto a crunch of gravel curb and waited while Piv went to the driver to pay. She was surprised at the dwellings. No porch lights burned, but the glow of the lit picture windows indicated a row of two-story town houses with white shutters and broad garage doors. Because of the blackness, the songthaew’s puttering, the soft hills, Piv’s vagueness, the taste of bugs, Robin had half anticipated she was heading toward a bamboo farmhouse with pigs living underneath. The truck drove away, its departing ruckus accentuating the night’s quiet. Suddenly, she was down-deep scared. Piv slung their pack onto his shoulder and headed for the door, but she hung back. He stopped. Turned. Pecked her mouth dryly.
“Okay,” he said, giving her wrist a tug. “Come on.”
Two steps closer, Robin saw what kept these houses from being unchecked American suburban subdivision homes: the shutters looked aluminum, but the walls were unfinished cinder block.
Following Piv, she stepped out of her shoes at the threshold. The screen door opened directly into a living room focused around a color TV. Robin lagged at the door frame, and Piv strode in. He waied quickly, then caught the backpack slipping down his shoulder. A round-faced girl, her cheeks circled in white paste, beamed up at him from her seat on the floor. From a chair, a dry curl of a man bobbed his head happily, his bottom jaw flapping. Piv’s mother just scowled. She held a square of glittering white tapestry and gestured with it up the stairs that bordered the small room.
With Piv up the stairs, gazes fell on Robin. She had memorized some basic Thai phrases for the occasion, but they were frozen just above her reach. The sister’s smile softened, and her gaze turned down shyly, perhaps embarrassed to have been caught in a beauty routine. The father still nodded happily and beckoned her into the room. The mother went back to her sewing, her elbow avoiding the tin of pearly sequins balanced on the flat arm of her chair. Then all eyes drifted back to the TV set.