Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10)

by David B. Smith

  “Monday morning in Bangkok.” He muttered the words aloud, trying desperately to regain a measure of thoughtful calm. “And no wallet. Or watch.”

  Despite his aching limbs, his mouth twisted into a wry grin as he thought of the robbers’ frustration at finding only twenty baht in his wallet. Then his anger returned. How could they!

  Picking his way through the reeking mounds of trash he headed for the main street where he stared in both directions. Nothing looked familiar.

  “Where’s that bar?” Gingerly moving through the foot traffic, he walked down the block, studying both sides of the street. Without the neon glow everything looked different anyway, but after walking just to the first corner he realized he was in a completely different part of town.

  “They must have taken my money and then dumped me way over here,” he grumbled to himself, biting his lip to keep from spitting out his rage. Crude profanities from his early days in public junior high school crowded his mind.

  At the next corner he paused and looked in every direction. A painful hunger began to twist at his insides, adding to the queasiness already there. The last traces of the drug must still be in his system, he decided.

  Halfway down the next block was a bus stop with a long wooden bench. A metal roof and walls, plastered with Thai advertising posters, provided at least some protection from the sun. Bucky sank down wearily on the edge of the bench, ignoring the curious stares of Thai students.

  Where to? Bucky realized that the old adage about “Stay put when you’re lost” no longer applied. He was miles removed from any place his friends might be looking for him. Sitting quietly on the bench for fifteen minutes, he tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts.

  But nothing came to mind. Finally, sighing heavily, he picked himself up and began to walk down the street once again. Somewhere in this huge Asian city was that quiet, walled compound from where he hoped seventeen friends and Pastor Gordon were looking for him.

  He walked two more blocks before stopping again. A small restaurant with English lettering on it attracted his attention. He pushed his way into the quiet interior and went up to the cash register.

  “Hello.” The woman spoke the greeting tentatively.

  “You speak English?”

  “No. Only little.”

  Bucky took a deep breath. “Do you know where the Christian hospital is?” Even to him the simple words sounded complicated now.

  “Hospital, no. This restaurant.”

  “I know.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I need Christian hospital.” He thought hard. “Mission Hospital?”

  The woman shook her head sympathetically. “Mai kowchai.” She gave a little shrug.

  “Don’t understand. Yeah.” Sighing, he motioned with his hand. “Drink? Water?” Reluctantly he forced Gordon’s health warnings from his mind.

  She nodded, filling a grimy cup with water from a faucet and handing it to him. Bucky’s stomach tightened as he forced the liquid down.

  Setting the cup back on the counter, he looked at the woman again. “Bathroom? I need a bathroom.” He could think of no way to explain his need except to speak clearly and hope she understood. “Bathroom?”

  The woman lifted her hands in friendly helplessness. “Doan know,” she replied in broken English.

  Bucky nodded wearily. “Thanks.”

  “Goodbye,” she said, picking up the cup and putting it back in place.

  The rising temperature outside hit him like a boxer’s blow. He trembled involuntarily. The painful hunger and his urgent need for a restroom were causing real agony now.

  He trudged two more blocks, pausing once to ask a well-dressed man if he knew where the Christian hospital was. A short, staccato laugh and shake of the head were his only response.

  Suddenly Bucky brightened. Way down the street, nearly three blocks away, was a familiar yellow. “Wendy’s! It’s a Wendy’s!” In his eagerness he darted forward, dodging the hurtling cars as he crossed the intersections.

  The air-conditioned breeze bathed his perspiring face as he entered the familiar fast - food restaurant. A huge menu announced a smorgasbord of American items and their Thai equivalents, along with prices in baht.

  Slipping into the men’s room, he sank down to rest in one of the stalls. Minutes later he emerged with his face clean and toweled off. Standing in line, he waited impatiently until he reached the counter.

  “Hello. May I please help you?” The waitress was a tall Thai girl, dressed in the familiar Wendy’s outfit. She parroted the phrase carefully.

  “I need . . . is the manager here?”

  The girl’s forehead furrowed as she digested the words. “Not today,” she said at last. “Tomorrow he is here.”

  “I need someone to help me. I got lost.”

  “You want food? May I help you?”

  The same familiar frustration began to rise again. Why can’t anybody understand me! The week of goodwill and love for the Thai people began to slip away. He forced the irrational anger from his mind.

  “I got lost. I have no money. I need to find the Christian hospital.” He recited the words with a numb sliver of hope.

  “I don’t know . . . you . . . what you say.” The girl shrugged, motioning to a fellow employee.

  “Yes. May I help you?”

  Bucky repeated the words to the boy. “I need someone to help me.”

  The same shrug. “Manager not here. You want order? No?”

  “I don’t have any money!” The words came out more sharply than Bucky intended. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to be calmer. “Somebody took all my money. I’m broke . . . and lost . . . and nobody seems to be able to help me.”

  The two Wendys’ employees glanced at each other helplessly. “I don’t know how you . . . what . . .” The boy’s English faded into a silent stare.

  Bucky nodded wearily as he turned and went out. Outside two huge buses rumbled past the American - style restaurant, their seats and aisles jammed with passengers.

  Could I call the hospital? The thought popped into his brain as he remembered the switchboard operator in the lobby of Mission Hospital. Searching up and down the street, he recalled now that in nearly two weeks in Thailand he hadn’t tried to use a single pay phone.

  “Plus you haven’t got any money, dodo,” he reminded himself, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he began walking down the street.

  No phones. No police. His mind bounced from idea to idea, rejecting each one almost instantly. Bangkok was just a whole different kind of place when you were lost, he grimaced.

  During a temporary lull in the frantic rush - hour traffic, three empty taxis zipped past, each one seemingly trying to outrace the others to the next red light.

  Chewing his lip as he thought, Bucky suddenly stopped in mid - stride and stepped to the curb. An idea was beginning to form.

  Almost immediately a taxi scooted up next to him. The driver nodded affably without speaking, waiting for instructions. Knowing it was unlikely that the man would understand, Bucky still repeated his request for help in getting to the Christian hospital.

  The taxi driver shook his head. “Mai kowchai.” By now the negative response needed no explanation. Just to be sure, Bucky repeated the destination once more. “Hospital. Mission Hospital.”

  Another determined shake. The teenage boy took a deep breath. “Christian church,” he said simply. “Christian church.”

  The driver thought for a moment, digesting the words.

  “Christian church,” Bucky repeated. He put his hands together in a worshipful manner. “Christian.”

  A hopeful gleam came into the man’s eyes. “Chlistian,” he lisped.

  “Yes! Yes! Christian church. Can you take me?” The man pondered, then nodded, looking at him curiously. “Hundred baht.”

  His pockets empty, Bucky nodded in agreement and climbed in. “This better work, Lord,” he breathed as the taxi sped into traffic and raced to beat a yellow light.

  The
pain in his stomach was a dull ache now as he watched the crowded scenery slip by. Once he thought he recognized the bar from the night before, but it was impossible to tell with so many buses and heavily - loaded trucks blocking the view.

  The taxi abruptly turned right, squealing in front of an oncoming van filled with construction workers. “Watch it!” Bucky gulped.

  The driver grumbled something in Thai without looking back at his passenger. Easing the cab over to the sidewalk, he pointed at a medium - size building on the left.

  Bucky peered out the window at the sign. “Assembly of God Congregation,” he read.

  “OK?” The cabbie looked at him for approval.

  The young man took a deep breath. “Yeah, OK,” he said slowly. Tugging on the door’s latch, he stepped out and paused by the cabbie’s window. “You wait here,” he said, trying to make each word clear.

  “Hundred baht,” the man reminded.

  “I know.” Bucky tried to sound placating. “Just a minute. You wait here.” He pointed at his bare wrist as if looking at a watch. “Two minutes, OK?”

  A pause. “OK.”

  Hoping against hope, Bucky went up to the door and knocked. For a moment there was an almost excruciating silence. He knocked again.

  A female voice inside called out something in Thai. He could hear footsteps approaching.

  “Please, Lord . . .”

  The door swung open. A cheerful Thai woman, wearing a plain cotton dress with tiny matching earrings, looked at him curiously. “Yes?”

  “You speak English?”

  “Not so much. Just one moment, please.” She left abruptly and went into the next room. Bucky could hear a phone ringing. He turned to where the taxi driver was waiting, breathing another wordless prayer as he did so.

  “May we help you?” An American man, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and no tie, stood at the door.

  Bucky felt emotion flooding his eyes. “Yeah,” he managed. “I’m lost . . . and broke. I need to get to Mission Hospital.” The words, spoken for what seemed to him like the thousandth time, tingled with new hope.

  “How’d you get here?” The pastor’s voice was friendly.

  Bucky nodded wearily toward the cab. “He brought me here. I’ve got to give him a hundred baht, but I’m broke. Somebody took my money last night. If you can just get me to Mission Hospital, I’ve got money there. And all my friends.” His words came in fatigued little bursts. “Do you know where it is?”

  The words hung in the air. At that moment Bucky felt like one more no would be the final straw.

  The pastor laughed. “Sure.” He looked over at his Thai secretary.

  “Really?”

  Another laugh. “Every Christmas we get together with them and do a concert. Us, them, and the Baptists. Sure, I know where they are. My wife had an emergency root canal job done there last month.”

  Tears of relief sprang into Bucky’s eyes. “If you could get me home, I just . . .” His knees felt weak.

  The Assembly of God minister put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let me get your taxi man taken care of first,” he said. “Then we’ll see about getting you home to your friends.”

  Chapter Twelve: Reunion

  Dazed, Bucky watched as the tall minister went out to where the taxi driver waited impatiently. Fishing in his pocket, the man pulled out a red bill and handed it to the cabbie, who grunted and gunned his engine in response.

  “What’s your name?” the pastor asked as he came back up the walk.

  “Bucky. Bucky Stone.”

  The kind-looking man eyed him. “You look pretty banged up. Have you had anything to eat?”

  Wearily the teenager shook his head. “Not since last night.”

  “What happened to you anyway?” He motioned him into a small kitchen next to his study. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He pulled out a plate of pineapple slices and some bread. “Here, have some of this.”

  Over the cold fruit and pieces of bread spread with homemade coconut honey, Bucky told his story. The minister whistled as Bucky described being drugged in the bar. “No kidding! What a mess!” The man looked at him thoughtfully. “You realize how lucky you are to be alive.”

  “I know.”

  “Places like that rip people off all the time. Bangkok is fierce for stuff like that. I’d think if they found somebody with a lousy twenty baht in his pocket, they’d just as soon put a bullet in him as anything.”

  Bucky trembled. “All I know is, I woke up this morning with a headache and no money or watch.”

  The minister nodded. “I guess I never introduced myself.” He held out his hand. “Reverend Thomas. Gerald Thomas.”

  Bucky wiped some honey off his fingers and shook hands. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he said fervently.

  “No problem. The Christian folks at Mission Hospital are pretty awesome people. I’m happy to do a favor any time for you all.”

  “Well,” Bucky sighed in relief, “they’re going to be awfully relieved when we get there.”

  Pastor Thomas smiled. “What do you say we do just that?”

  The same frantic traffic rumbled by as the young minister guided them through busy intersections in his little blue Mazda. Somehow the foreign harshness of Bucky’s surroundings now seemed friendly again. “Sure feels good to know I’m out of this mess,” he murmured.

  “Well, the Lord had his eye on you, son.” The pastor glanced in his rear view mirror before switching lanes. “‘Cause you were a long way from your hospital.”

  “Is that it up there?” Bucky spied the railroad crossing and the familiar concrete wall.

  “Sure is.”

  “Boy, I was starting to think I’d never see it again.”

  “When do you head back to the States?”

  “Tomorrow.” Bucky looked over at his new friend. “How long have you been out here?”

  “Just about two years. I got two more before my first term is up. My wife and I came here from Seattle. She teaches English at our language school.”

  “You like it out here?”

  “I sure do.” Pastor Thomas pulled to a stop as the railroad crossing bars slowly dropped, blocking the traffic. “The people are wonderful here, and now that I’m learning the language, witnessing for God is a real thrill.”

  “You speak Thai?”

  A laugh. “Nit noi.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “‘Little bit.’”

  Bucky watched the passenger train creak by. “How do you say the name of this hospital in Thai?”

  The pastor squinted. “Seems like everybody calls it ‘roang payaban mitchun’ – something like that.”

  “That’s it!” The painfully elusive phrase seemed so easy now. “Man, all morning I couldn’t think of it.”

  “And here we are.” Pastor Thomas wheeled into the front entrance and slowed down. “Where do you think your friends are?”

  “I don’t know.” Bucky looked at the hospital’s main lobby. “Let’s try in here, I guess.” Suddenly he gasped. “There! Right there’s Pastor Humboldt!”

  The little Mazda lurched to a stop. “This I’ve got to see!” the pastor grinned.

  Climbing out of the car, Bucky bounded toward the entrance where Gordon was frantically gesturing to three Thai men. One of them was wearing some kind of khaki uniform and pointing at a large map.

  “Gordon!” The teenager’s voice shook.

  The youth director whirled at the sound. His face grew slack as he spotted the American boy. “Bucky!” Dashing toward him, the man enveloped him in a huge hug. “Oh, God, thank you!” Then he clutched at Bucky, pounding him happily on the back over and over.

  The three men gathered around them, jabbering excitedly. “This is him?” one of them asked in his rudimentary English.

  “Yes! Yes! He’s home!” Gordon’s voice shook with emotion. Standing a few yards away, Pastor Thomas watched with a thoughtful smile. Remembering the Assembly of G
od minister, Bucky pulled the youth director toward him.

  “I guess I’d better introduce you.” Disengaging himself from Gordon’s embrace with a grin, he explained who Pastor Thomas was.

  “Great to meet you,” Gordon said, fatigue showing in his bloodshot eyes. “And, boy, thanks for your help. We were really worried.”

  “Praise the Lord.” The Assembly of God minister put an arm around Bucky. “I guess you folks were probably up all night.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Gordon smiled wearily, clasping his fellow pastor’s hand again. “Between looking and praying, it was a long night and day.” He glanced at Bucky. “What happened anyway?”

  For the second time the young student missionary related his experience. When he began to describe his second thoughts about leaving the bus stop near the boxing stadium, the youth director shook his head in frustration.

  “Yep, that’s what you shoulda done. Stay right there. Chai and Benny and I went right back there and looked for almost two hours. Then we just didn’t know what else to do. We contacted the police, but in a city this size, that was almost for sure not going to turn up anything.”

  One of the Thai men listening bobbed his head in agreement. “Chokedee,” he began repeating over and over.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Lucky. Fortunate.” Pastor Thomas translated the Thai expression. “You sure were, Bucky.”

  “Most of the students were up praying just about all night, Bucky.” Gordon pulled out a soiled white handkerchief and mopped at his nose, sneezing violently. “We just didn’t have a thing to go on . . . once we couldn’t find you back at that bus stop.”

  “Yeah, that was dumb of me,” Bucky admitted. “The whole thing was stupid. Going to that boxing match, and then not staying close to Chai and Benny . . .”

  “Chai feels terrible about the whole thing,” Gordon interjected. “He kept saying you were right behind him getting on the bus, and then it was so crowded he couldn’t see you. Then when it came time to get off, you weren’t there.”

  “Hey, it’s not his fault.” Bucky shook his head vehemently. “Nobody’s fault but my own. I really blew it. If I’d followed your instructions better, this wouldn’t have happened. And then to leave that place . . . I just was scared and didn’t think.”