Reprieve

by James Han Mattson

  “You from America?” the driver said.

  “Yes,” Leonard said. “Nebraska.”

  “Nebraska!” he said.

  “You know it?”

  “I don’t know. But very good, I’m sure!”

  The tuk-tuk driver dropped him off at the foot of Khao San Road. He looked back at Leonard, smiled. “You will have great time. I wait if want ride later?”

  Leonard shook his head. “No. I’m okay.”

  “Okay, sir! Okay! Thank you thank you.” He put his hands together, bowed.

  Leonard walked down the road and noticed, to his enormous comfort, that many of the people around him were white. If he needed help, he thought, he’d be able to talk to someone. It’d all be okay. He walked more. Around him were open-walled restaurants, just like he’d seen in the photos in the guidebook John had given him. Attractive men and women beckoned him from the sides of the street, always smiling. It was dusk: the lights of the establishments blinked on. Stray dogs, matted and flea-ridden, strolled around him. He gave them a wide berth.

  He stopped at a café that boasted “Pad Thai for Days!” along with a picture of a heaping plate of steaming noodles. He sat outside. The waiter, a young man in a white shirt, black slacks, looking much too formal for a place with pictures on the menu, asked if he wanted any alcohol. He looked over the menu. Yes, yes, he would like some alcohol. Gin, perhaps? Gin went good on a night like tonight, the waiter said; it offset the steamy weather. Leonard ordered a small bottle of Tanqueray. Then he pointed to the picture that’d lured him in.

  “Pad thai,” he said, “for days.”

  When the food and drink came, he guzzled, shoveled, chomped, swallowed. Soon he was drunk and full, and the sun had completely fallen, and everything around him was dazzling, electric, smothered in intrigue. A group of young white American men passed him, all red-faced, drunk, bellowing, looking straight out of a Greek-life advertisement from some major land-grant university. They leaned on one another, laughing. One of them said, “We’re in fucking Thailand.”

  Leonard stood up, found himself wobbly. He paid the bill, left a hefty tip. He felt emboldened. He hadn’t thought of Mary once, at least not in a significant way. He walked.

  He went up to a coconut cart, lingered, stared. The woman behind the cart was mesmerizing, her skin clear, her body willowy, lithe. She wore little makeup, just some pale lipstick, and she moved behind her cart softly, gracefully. Leonard thought of what John had told him before he’d left. Every woman’s for sale over there, he’d said. Even if they’re married. Even if they’re young. Every woman. Just name your price.

  “Hey, you,” Leonard said, winking. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She laughed. “You want coconut?”

  “I want your number.”

  She shook her head. “Coconut only fifty baht. Special.”

  “I want your coconuts.”

  She frowned. “More customer behind. Please hurry.”

  There was something off about her voice—it was grating, nasal, it didn’t match her exterior grace. He’d expected some lilt, a soothing rush of feminine calm.

  “I gotta see you again, beautiful,” he said, thinking, If only Mary could see me now.

  “No coconut, please keep move.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “May I help you?” she said to the man behind him.

  He took a few steps back. The people behind him—two middle-aged men and one woman, all of them Asian—stepped forward. The woman ordered three coconuts in broken English. The vendor smiled, took their money. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Leonard said. The three Asians looked at him. One of the men frowned, whispered something to his male friend. “This is paradise, right?” Leonard said. The group left, not looking back.

  Leonard approached the cart again. The woman sighed. “You want coconut?” she said.

  “This is my first night here. Well, not exactly. I slept, but I mean, out, this is my first night out here. I would love to take you for some delicious pad thai tomorrow, right down the street? I was just there and they were very nice, so if you want, we could . . .”

  She swatted away a fly. A bone-thin dog came up to Leonard. Leonard jumped back. The dog walked by, unamused.

  “It would be nice to have a local show me around here,” Leonard said. “So if you’re free tomorrow I can come meet you here and we could have dinner and walk around and you could tell me about this fascinating place. You could—I’m an honest, sincere man. Just so you know. And I’m single.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I too busy. And I have boyfriend. Sorry.”

  “But it’s not like that. I don’t have to be, we can be friends, right? We could just be friends. We could go eat pad thai, then you could show me around maybe, just as friends.”

  “I am not one you want,” she said. “Please. Customers behind.”

  “I will come here tomorrow just to see if you’re free. Then maybe we could get some pad thai . . .”

  “May I help you?”

  He made note of her stand, noticed the picture of the big fuzzy coconut on the front of it, committed it to his drunken memory, and kept walking. It was very busy now, so much so that in many parts, large groups of people brushed against him just to get by. Sometimes, when an attractive Thai woman passed, he reached out his hand, let it linger, and one time, a woman shouted at him in Thai, batted at his hand before stomping away.

  “Oh, don’t be like that!” he said. “I’ve got money.”

  She scoffed, continued walking.

  He was feeling good, he was feeling great, and the only thing that could make him feel better, he thought, was some company, and so, like a pro, like a local, he flagged down a tuk-tuk driver and shouted, “Patpong!” The driver, a young guy, much less animated than his previous driver, snorted and said, “Yes.”

  It was a Tuesday, but in any place in the States, it would’ve looked like a Saturday night. Men clumped together in twos and threes, many of them stumbling. From the establishments on either side of the alley, women in slinky skirts smiled, shouted, grabbed. One of them, sitting outside a bar called Pleasure Dome, shouted, “I love you. You! You! I love you!” The air fulminated neon—pinks, purples, reds—and some of the more aggressive women danced in the alley, pulling at their hair, sliding their hands up their thighs, sucking their fingers. “Come see!” one said. “Many, many beautiful girls. Come see!”

  Leonard walked in a daze, his drunken contentment giving way to awe. A thick, mustached white man passed him with a girl on his arm. The girl looked fifteen, maybe sixteen. The man’s considerable chest puffed. The girl tried to match his long strides.

  He’d break her, Leonard thought as they passed. Just a slight shove and she’d be across the room.

  He passed a row of outdoor vendors beneath a large white tent. The tents looked misplaced among all the sex. People—mostly Thai—roamed among the goods, browsing. Why would you come here to shop? he wondered.

  He walked down the length of the alley, which ended at Silom Road, a main artery that seemed wholesome and bright. He thought, I’m not sure about this.

  His initial desire for company dissipated. Though he’d known Patpong would be seedy, he hadn’t really realized how seediness would shape itself. One of the seediest places he’d ever been—besides a smattering of strip clubs—was a bar called Lucky’s in west Lincoln. It was a singles bar, and often, before the lights came on, men and women drunkenly groped each other in shadowy corners. He’d never participated in the groping but had secretly wondered what it’d be like to show such sexual ferocity in a public place.

  But that place is nothing compared to this, he thought. Nothing.

  He walked. Two women flashed their breasts at him, one fingered herself, moaning, and another reached out, grabbed his crotch, said, “I like so much please!” He couldn’t determine whether this aroused or deflated him—perhaps a bit of both. But there’s a better area, according to John, he t
hought. A more interesting area. He flagged down a taxi.

  Nana Plaza was much brighter, less seedy. It was in a giant mall-like structure: four floors, the first dedicated to food and drink, the other three to sex. It was a big rectangle, awash in pink light, and because it was contained in a single building, it didn’t seem as destitute as the places on Patpong. Perhaps it was his middle-American mall-going upbringing that made him appreciate it more: he felt instantly comfortable there, even amid the tremendous crowds of shouting men and women.

  He decided, after walking around, after dodging gropings and ignoring catcalls, that he would go into one of the “stores.” They all seemed similar—bikini-and-thong-clad girls sitting outside on stools, beckoning, smiling coyly—but one in particular looked different, the entrance a series of black rubber flaps, the girls outside less aggressive, almost bored, their makeup darker than the rest, more creative. It was called “The Spider.”

  At the door, the girls on the stools hardly raised their eyes from the floor.

  “Yes, go in. Very nice,” one said. She smiled weakly; she might as well have shrugged. Leonard went in.

  It was dark inside—too dark. He put his hands out in front of him. Someone grabbed his arm, a soft touch. “It’s okay,” the girl said. “Hard adjusting. Just stand for seven seconds. Next show delayed but will be on soon.”

  She let go of his arm. He stood, and slowly, the place filled in around him. To his right: stadium seating, fifteen steps high. He counted eighteen men, some with girls on their laps. To his left: a series of raised platforms, each containing a pole. They were spread out in an arc, the center platform larger than the rest. Spider-shaped, he thought. Above: music, some sort of American rock. It was loud; his entire body shivered with the beats. He shuffled toward the seats, walked up to the top, sat down.

  A minute later, the show started.

  The women, predictably, were topless, listless, bored. They each wore a thong with a number pinned to it. White, purple, and red light shot down from above, crisscrossing frantically over each platform. Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” started the set. The girls danced, some jerkily, some smoothly, some using the pole, most just swaying their hips back and forth, looking drugged. A few touched their breasts suggestively, licked their fingers, grabbed their crotch—very rehearsed, very disingenuous. They’ve done this night after night, he thought. What actual desire do they have left? He sat back. A man in the row in front of him had unzipped his pants and was rubbing himself. Leonard felt queasy. Was this what he wanted?

  It’ll be weird at first, John had said. But you need to go with it. It’s a vacation, a release, and you deserve it after what you’ve gone through.

  A girl with a tray clomped up the stairs, sat next to Leonard.

  “Whiskey or beer?” she said.

  He said nothing.

  “Where are you from?” the girl said. She put a hand on his forearm. He moved his forearm away.

  “America,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, you’re so handsome,” the girl said.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “I wonder if everyone in America is so handsome.”

  She smelled nice, like berries. He kept his eyes on the stage. She touched his arm again. They were silent. Slowly, carefully, desire crept its way back into his blood.

  “So hot in here,” she said, fanning herself. “I dance someday, but not yet. Not train. You watch me someday?”

  He breathed deep. The woman’s voice was soft, naïve. He sensed something not yet broken in her. He turned, saw her face. She was young. Her eyes drooped slightly at the edges, spreading melancholy through her temples. Her lips were full, her cheeks angular, and when she smiled, a small wrinkle formed at the top of her forehead. Beautiful, he thought. And then: What is someone like you doing here? And then: If Mary could see me now. And then: Fuck Mary.

  “This is my first time here,” he said.

  “I understand,” she said, her hand still attached to his arm. “I hope you like?”

  “Oh,” he said, leaning closer to her. “Yes. Yes, you’re very pretty.”

  She turned away, blinked. “You buy drink for me?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What’ll you have?”

  “I go get. You wait.” She removed her hand from his arm, stood up, smiled down at him, and walked down the steps to the bar. He watched her go, enjoying the way she swayed as she clomped downward. He sat back in his seat and wondered if he was really about to do this.

  She returned with two drinks. On the stage, the dancers were switching platforms, the strobe lights flashing around them like lightning. The girl sat down. She said, “I am Boonsri.”

  “I am Leonard,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you, Leonard.” She giggled, gave him a glass of whiskey and ice. She wrapped her lips around a straw, looked up at him. “Spider many beautiful girl,” she said, setting her drink on the floor, running her hand through her hair.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You like?” she asked.

  “Oh,” he said, “they’re not as pretty as you.” He smiled. She put a hand on his leg. “You’re something else completely.”

  “Hmm.”

  They sat for a while, drinking, watching. Boonsri drank fast, looking up at him often, blinking rapidly. Soon: the slurry, bubble sounds of a straw sucking on an empty cocktail glass. Leonard looked at his own drink. It was still half-full. He downed it in one swig. Down at the bar, men were transacting, taking girls from the stage, paying the bartender. Leonard leaned in to Boonsri, the weight of drink pressing hard against his temples.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “You wanna come to my hotel?”

  She didn’t answer. She took his hand and led him down the steps.

  In the hotel room, she immediately went to the window, looked out on the city. Her eyes scanned the buildings, the horizon, the roads; she followed the traffic as it sped past a busy intersection. He put his hands on her shoulders. They were cold.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he said, standing back, realizing too late that he had nothing, that he’d have to go down to the hotel bar if she said yes.

  She turned around, smiled. She wore a small white dress—it barely covered her upper thighs. “Good tip?” she said. “I do many thing.”

  She started easing out of her dress, but Leonard stopped her.

  “No,” he said.

  “No?” she said.

  “Can we just talk for a bit?”

  “My English.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll pay a good tip.”

  She replaced her dress strap.

  He sat on the bed, motioned her to join him. She sat close. He put a hand on her leg. “I suppose you’re used to doofuses like me getting all nervous,” he said. “I’m sure they come out of the woodwork for you.” He turned to her. She blinked. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “I begin mouth,” she said. “You like?”

  “Yes, I like,” he said. She got off the bed, positioned herself between his knees. “Wait,” he said. “No—not yet.”

  “No?” she said.

  “Just—can you just sit here for a while? Or maybe—here, let’s do this. Lie down. On your side. I’m gonna put my arms around you, okay?”

  “My dress.”

  “Just leave it on for now.”

  “Okay.”

  Fully clothed, he held her. She felt small, his arms completely encircling her body. Mary had never liked cuddling, had pushed him off when he’d tried, citing his inflated body temperature, so he’d stopped trying, just rolled over and slept after their perfunctory lovemaking. But he missed it, had loved running his hands against her slick abdomen as he drifted off. That first year—the year things had been good—he’d fallen asleep thinking how his life was as he’d wanted it, how this woman, Mary, in such a short time, had shown him a limitless possibility.

  “You have a beautiful country,” he told B
oonsri.

  “Mmm,” Boonsri said.

  “This is my first time outside America.”

  “We have thirty minute,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” he said. He held her tighter. “If we don’t . . . it’s okay.” He sniffed her hair, smelled lemon. “This is my first time doing this.”

  “You say already.”

  His hands wandered around her abdomen, up to her breasts, down to her hips. He kissed the back of her head. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “I can tell.”

  “Mmm,” she said.

  “There’s a sense I get here in Thailand,” he said. “A different sense. A respectful sense. Everyone’s been kind. Everyone smiles. It’s great.” He paused. “It’s like the hospitality industry here really understands how to cater.”

  “I will go back in twenty minute.”

  “I saw you and thought, Man, why is someone as gorgeous as you doing this? Like, surely you can do other things, right? But that’s just it. This country. I’ve only been here one day, and I get it, I think. I think I get it. You have this very practical approach to everything, right? You see that people have needs, but still, it’s not all practical because the temples, all that history and all that gold.”

  She turned around, looked at him, smashed her lips against his, running her hand down to his crotch. He responded by tearing off his clothes, running his hand up her leg, kissing, thrusting. He raised her dress, climbed on top of her. She moaned, closed her eyes. It was over in five minutes.

  Afterward, she rose from the bed, went to the bathroom. He lay on his back, panting. The faucet came on.

  “You don’t have to go so quick,” he called out. “I’ll pay a higher tip.”

  She came out of the bathroom, her hair combed, her makeup reapplied. She leaned against the wall, a hand on her hip.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t have to go so soon.”