And because they’re paying for the trip, I was able to buy back the Buddha pendant from the pawnshop with my savings and extra money I earned from baby-sitting and working part-time at the library. I kept going back to check on it, making a payment each time. And luckily, no one else wanted it that whole time. Yesterday I made the final payment, and put it around my neck again. And tomorrow I’ll give it to the spirit, as I promised her I would, at the Erewan Shrine, where Bia made his first bargain with her. That will complete the circle.
We’re so close to the ground now that I can see the steeply sloped roof of a temple. I can just make out the statues of grimacing demons on the walls, part man, part animal. It hits me how strange and exotic everything is going to be here. I’ve never been out of the country before. I hope I won’t have any problems.
Sak is staying in America for the summer, going to summer school; I’ll stay with his family when I’m not traveling around the country. One of his sisters may come with me. They’ll all be meeting me at the airport.
And Bia will be with them. We have it all worked out. It’ll be a little tricky at first, acting like we don’t know each other. But we’ll get to be friendly very soon. He’s the right age for me, and he speaks English. It’s only natural that he and I would start spending time together.
Bia did not just walk out the door of our house and try to make his own way back to Thailand, as he had thought he’d have to do. The day after he told his story I made the first payment on the pendant—and that night Mom and Dad decided to let him use the second half of the ticket. Dad lent him several hundred dollars as well. He promised to pay them back, and he’s already sent them more than half of what he owes. He also continues to give money to his parents, so it’s not easy for him. But he’s doing better now.
Because of the money Dad lent him, he was able to repay his friend Chai. Loyalty to his old friend was not the only reason it was important to pay him back as soon as possible. He also didn’t want to have any connection to the shady aspects of Chai’s life. Not being indebted to him made it easier for Bia to keep his distance.
And because of the money from Dad, Bia didn’t have to return to his old job right away. It turns out that he did work cleaning floors, though in an office building, not the post office. The little he told us about it did give credibility to the story we told Sak.
As soon as Bia got back to Thailand he brought flowers to the spirit at the Erewan Shrine; he put gold leaf on the Buddha there. Then he visited his parents, and Sak’s parents too. Because he didn’t have to go back to work immediately, he was able to spend some time with them. He was especially helpful to Sak’s family.
And—after I’d made the second payment on the pendant—a very lucky thing happened. One of Sak’s sisters had just started working as a maid in a hotel in Bangkok. She knew of an opening there, carrying luggage. Bia got the job. He did well. His English had improved after six weeks in America, and of course he had perfect manners. A few months later I made another payment—and Bia wrote that he had been promoted to bell captain. Three weeks ago I made the next to last payment. That’s when they gave him a much better job, at the reception desk. He got me a very good rate at the hotel. I’ll stay there after I leave Sak’s family’s house. We’ll go sight-seeing together on his days off.
The plane is landing now—and I know that takeoffs and landings are the most dangerous moments of a flight. I reach up to touch the Buddha pendant around my neck.
It’s not there.
The plane hits the runway, bounces, and hits again, shuddering. Where is the pendant? I lean forward to look on the floor. Wind screams against the wing flaps. It’s got to be here! I can’t reach the floor because of the seat belt, so I feel for the pendant on the cushion and in the crack between the seats; I reach into the pocket in front of me. I can’t find it.
I’m panicking now. I promised I’d give it to the spirit. Spirits must be stronger here than in America. I think of the grimacing demons I saw on the temple only moments ago. Maybe I packed the pendant in my carry-on bag. But I know I didn’t. I remember touching the pendant on my neck when we landed in Tokyo.
But I don’t remember touching it when we took off.
I pull my bag out from under the seat in front of me. I check through it frantically, even though I know the pendant won’t be there—and it isn’t. Did I lose it at the Tokyo airport, where I was so dazed? The thought bites into my stomach. I never did have a chance to get the clasp fixed; it was so loose it could easily have fallen off. And I had promised Bia I would never be careless with it!
The man next to me starts to get up, even though the seat-belt sign is still on. The cabin attendant appears instantly and tells him to sit down. “Excuse me,” I say to her. “Did anybody find a pendant in the bathroom, a gold chain with a jade Buddha? I lost it. Maybe it fell off in there.”
“No. I don’t think so,” she says. She pretends to look concerned, her perfect eyebrows moving almost a sixteenth of an inch. “I will ask,” she promises, and moves quickly away, busy and preoccupied. She has more important things to do.
The seat-belt sign goes off. I squeeze down onto my knees and reach under the seat. The pendant isn’t on the floor. I push the wrong way against the crowd, into the bathroom; no pendant. It must have fallen off in there, and someone must have taken it. Or else it’s in Tokyo.
I’m the last person on the plane now; they’ll throw me off in a minute. The heat is sudden and fierce when I step outside. Aching with worry, I follow the other passengers down the steps to the runway. The air shimmers above the pavement. We stand sweating in a crowded bus that rumbles slowly to the terminal. I wait in line to have my passport stamped. I keep telling myself that this isn’t a disaster; it just means I’ll have to use almost all of my spending money to buy the spirit another pendant.
But that was the one that started the whole thing—the one Bia promised her, the one I promised to give back to her if she brought me to Thailand. That was the one she wanted. And now it’s gone. How can I help feeling this is ominous? I think of those demons again.
Will Bia be furious? I try to assure myself that he’ll be so glad to see me he’ll forgive me for this. He’ll know what to do; he’ll tell me not to worry. Dragging my suitcase, I push through the doors to the outer terminal, where people are waiting. I look through the crowd. There are many Thai people, none of them familiar. Where’s Bia? He must be with Sak’s family.
Then I see Sak’s father, his mother, the whole group. His father is holding a piece of cardboard with my name on it, but I would have recognized them anyway from the pictures Sak showed us. Suddenly I feel shy, knowing that none of them speaks English. Communicating with them isn’t going to be easy.
They’re not smiling, as they were in the photos. Even when I wave at them and they recognize me, their smiles are halfhearted, forced. Clearly something is wrong.
Bia isn’t with them.
Acknowledgments
The author wishes to acknowledge
Surachest Chum-Up
Chrea Sek
Lynette Feather-Hatton
for their invaluable help with this book.
About the Author
William Sleator (1945–2011) was an American science fiction author best known for his young adult novels. Raised outside of St. Louis, Missouri, Sleator was the eldest of four children. After graduating from Harvard University with a degree in English, he moved to England for a short time, where he played music for ballet classes and developed the ideas for Blackbriar, his first novel. For many years, he was the rehearsal pianist for the Boston Ballet.
Sleator is the author of over thirty books, including The Angry Moon, which was awarded the Caldecott Medal and nominated for the National Book Award, as well as the quasi-autobiographical science fiction thrillers: The Night the Heads Came, Others See Us, and Oddballs. In his later years, he split his time between Boston and rural Thailand.
Author photo © 2002 by Abrams
/> All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by William Sleator
Cover design by Angela Goddard
ISBN 978-1-5040-1908-8
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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The Spirit House Page 11