by J. F. Gump
She glanced at her watch. She would be in Phitsanulok in three hours. The wet diaper would have to wait.
Nuang arrived in Phitsanulok long after the sun had set. It was almost nine o'clock by the time she exited the bus terminal. She flagged down a taxi and gave directions to her mother's house. Two blocks later she changed her mind and switched directions to her sister's. After a minute, she told the driver to stop at the nearest Seven-Eleven store and asked him to wait while she went inside to buy diapers, wipes, and powder.
When Nuang returned, she gave him new directions. This time it was to the temple. As much as she wanted to see her mother and her sisters, she wasn't ready to face the shame of having a baby from an illicit affair with a farang.
As the taxi made its way through Phitsanulok, Nuang changed the baby's diaper. It was only wet and nothing else. She wondered how long it was before babies had their first bowel movement. It was something she had never thought about and something she didn't know.
The driver never looked back, so he didn't see the baby uncovered. But Nuang did. As they passed beneath the street lights, she got a perfect look. It was the first time she had seen her baby uncovered since the hospital.
Her skin was mostly red and obviously more foreign than Thai. Her hair wasn't as fair as she had first thought, but it was far from being black. Her eyes were shut but she knew they were as blue as she remembered. Her baby was not Thai. She was farang, foreign. Her baby was a half-breed, a mongrel, and it was hers. She stared for a long minute. Yes, it was definitely hers. When the taxi slowed for a stoplight, she wrapped the baby back into the blanket.
"Why are you going to the temple?" the driver asked, pretending nonchalance.
He was being nosy, but Nuang answered anyway, "I am taking my baby to see her grandfather." It was a lie, but the truth was none of his business.
"Your grandfather is a monk?"
"My grandfather is the abbot," she lied again, hoping the driver would stop his questions.
"How long has he been a monk?"
Nuang didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the baby to her chest and sang a soft lullaby. The driver took the hint and kept his mouth shut. Five minutes later they arrived at the temple. She paid the driver and he drove away.
Standing at the edge of the courtyard, she heard faint chanting emanating from inside the temple. She was surprised. It was late, and the temple should be quiet by now. Probably some religious holiday she had forgotten. She saw a lone monk walking toward her. She wondered if he would speak to her or just ignore her.
"Sawasdee, krup," he said.
"Sawasdee, ka," she replied. "Please excuse my bad manners, but I cannot wai while holding my baby." A wai is a polite greeting of respect, presented by pressing one's hands together in prayer-like fashion and then placing them in front of one's face. She knew she could have put her baby on the ground and wai'ed to the monk, but she didn't. "Please accept my apologies."
"Mai pen rai," the monk responded. Never mind. His eyes focused on the small bundle she held close to her chest. "Can I help you?"
Nuang guessed the monk to be in his late twenties. He was lean but not gaunt. His head was shaved. He seemed uncomfortable in his saffron robe. She suspected he was at the temple to do a short period of service to the Lord Buddha, rather than make the monkhood his life.
"I have a baby and very little money," she said. "I need a place to stay for tonight. A man told me this temple sometimes helps desperate women. Please, can you help me?"
"How old is your baby? Is it well?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"The baby was born just yesterday. Please, I need some place to lie down. Suddenly, I feel very tired."
It was true. This was the longest she had stood at one time since the baby was born—and she hadn't eaten in two days. There was an itching, burning, sensation in her pelvic area. She felt nauseous.
"May I see your baby?" the monk asked.
Nuang pulled the baby closer. "No."
The young monk was taken aback. He had never met a woman who didn't want to show off her baby. He studied her face. She wasn't young, but not old either. He guessed her to be in her mid thirties. The maternity dress bagged unflattering down her body. She looked exhausted. The baby hadn't moved or made a sound.
"Please come with me," he said. "I'll show you where you can sleep."
She followed him to a building away from the main temple area. The room was stark but clean. Most important, it had a bed. A deep chill gripped her body. She shook involuntarily and the young monk noticed.
"Are you okay?" he asked, stepping closer, extending his hand to touch her forehead.
Nuang pulled away. "I'm okay. Please, I want to sleep now."
"What about the baby? Will you need help? I can have someone take care while you sleep."
"No!" The word shot from her mouth. She hesitated for a moment then said in a softer tone, "I mean, no, thank you. I will be fine."
She laid the baby on the bed, then turned and presented the monk with a very proper wai. "Khop khun mahk, ka. Now I must sleep."
"I will come for you in the morning to eat breakfast. It will be very early." He turned and left the room.
Another chill swept through Nuang. She never knew Thailand could be so cold. Being careful of her baby, she slipped under the bedcovers, pulled herself into a tight fetal ball, and shivered violently.
As she lay there trying to get warm, she realized the voices had not spoken since she left Chiang Mai. She prayed they didn't find her here. In a while the shivering calmed and she slept.
During the night an infection grew wild, uncontrolled. It ravaged her body to near death.
Chapter 6
Mike Johnson stared down at his shoes. Mud rimmed the soles and part of the leather uppers. There was a swash of wet brown across his trouser cuff where his shoe had brushed unnoticed. It rarely rained in Pittsburgh in mid August but it was raining today. There was no thunder or lightning, only a steady light rain that dampened everyone unlucky enough to be outside.
Directly across from him, a Methodist preacher was doing his best to be inspirational. Mike hardly noticed. He was beyond the point of inspiration. Mostly he was just tired; tired of all the bullshit that came with life.
Positioned between him and the preacher was Susan's casket. She had been dead for four days now. Four days of living hell. He had never in his life ever had to identify the body of a dead person. Certainly he had never had to identify the mangled body of his wife before.
His sister, Carol, had been his constant companion through it all, arranging the funeral. His old friend alcohol had joined him too, less than an hour after he identified Susan's body. Carol took care of details, while the alcohol kept him numb.
The preacher ended his prepared speech and said amen.
Mike wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he simply stood and walked away.
His sister Carol chased after him, but he brushed her off. "I want to be alone right now, but I want to see you tomorrow. Can you meet me at my house at two o'clock?"
"I have to work, but if it’s important I’ll be there."
"I'm meeting a real estate agent and an attorney. I'm selling everything. There will be papers for you to sign."
"What about Josh?"
"What about him?" Mike's tone turned harsh.
Carol didn't answer. Instead she said, "Some people from your work have brought food to my house. You should come; they’re expecting you."
He opened the car door and slipped inside. "I'm not in the mood for those people, especially Jess Ankrom."
Carol's eyes flicked to the Jack Daniel's bottle lying on the front seat. "I thought you only drank beer."
"I’ll see you tomorrow at two."
"Are you going home?"
"I can't sleep there anymore. It was never my home anyway."
"Where are you going? I might need to contact you."
"I’ll see you tomorrow."
He pulled the car door s
hut and drove away. He had no idea where he was going except that it would be someplace cheap. Someplace where he could live until he died. He hoped that would come sooner rather than later.
Chapter 7
Chiang Mai, Thailand
Surat's three day assignment to Thailand's Golden Triangle ended on the second day. The German couple he had been escorting had cut their trip short due to a family emergency. After making sure they had confirmed flights, Surat left them at the airport and headed home. It was nine o'clock in the evening.
The traffic was light and Surat reached his house in twenty minutes. A seed of apprehension sprouted when he found the shutters bolted and the door locked. He tapped lightly at the door and waited. Nuang didn't answer and he didn't hear her moving inside. She is only asleep, he tried to convince himself as he fumbled through his keys. In a moment the door was unlocked and he stepped inside.
He turned on the bare overhead light and walked quickly through the house. Nuang wasn't there. It wasn't like her to be out this late at night. In fact, for the last month she had hardly gone out at all. She had become extremely self-conscious and thought everyone was staring at her pregnancy. More than that, she had become paranoid. She was always talking about voices he couldn't hear, and evil spirits and other things that put cold bumps on his skin. No, she wouldn't be out this late without a good reason.
He searched the house again looking for any clue that would tell him where she had gone. This time he saw a note on the bed. He held it under the light and studied the writing. Surat was not an educated man, but he could read road signs and other simple words as long as they were written in very proper script. Beyond that, reading was a struggle. Whoever had left the note had scribbled so badly that he couldn't read a word of what it said.
After a few minutes he thought he recognized the words baby and hospital, but he wasn't sure. He folded the note and slipped it into his shirt pocket. His heart raced neck-and-neck with his thoughts as he hurried outside to the car. His employer didn't approve of him using the company vehicle for personal business, but sometimes he did it anyway. He started the car and sped to the hospital.
At the information counter, he spoke to the nurse on duty, "Kaw thort krup," he said, very polite. Excuse me, Miss. "I need the room number for Mrs. Chalamsee Duansawang."
"It's past visiting hours," the woman responded.
"I know," he lied. He had no idea of their visiting hours. "She is my wife. I must see her right away. It's important."
The lady stared at him for a brief second, then punched at the computer keyboard. In a moment she looked up. "Are you sure she is your wife?"
"Of course I'm sure," he said, irritated at her question. "What's her room number, please?"
"She's not here. She checked herself out this morning. It was against her doctor's orders. She didn't pay her bill before she left. You owe the hospital 10,800 baht."
"Did she have a baby?"
"Yes, she had a baby girl. Are you sure you are the father?"
"I told you once already. Thank you for your help. My insurance will pay for the hospital."
He returned to the car not sure what to do next. His thoughts were confused. He wanted to revel in the joy of being a father, but the situation wouldn't let him. Why hadn't Nuang called his cell phone when she went into labor? Why did she check herself out of the hospital and where could she have gone? He couldn't tell if the feeling overtaking him was anger or worry or terror.
He remembered the voices Nuang had been hearing. Certainly that wasn't normal. Now he wondered if they could be dangerous. Suddenly he wished he hadn't laughed at her when she had told him about them. He slid into the driver's seat and pulled away from the hospital.
He drove aimlessly through the streets of Chiang Mai trying to think like Nuang. There weren't many places she would go besides their home. In a while he had narrowed it to her mother's house in Phitsanulok or her best friend's apartment here in Chiang Mai. It took him less than five minutes to drive to Siriwan's.
Surat rang the bell at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Siriwan's room. A moment later a window opened above him. He looked up, "Sawasdee krup, Khun Siriwan. Have you seen Nuang?"
"I haven't seen Nuang in over a week," she shouted down. "Is everything okay? Have you lost her?"
Surat blushed at his situation. How many men lose their pregnant wives? "I was out of town for one night. While I was gone, Nuang had her baby and left the hospital. She is not at our house. I was hoping she had come to visit you."
"I’m sorry. I haven't seen or heard from her. Is the baby okay? Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't know about the baby except that it was a girl. If you see Nuang, make her wait here and call me. I think maybe she is afraid to be at our house alone. She thinks there are evil spirits there."
"Maybe she went to her mother's house."
"I thought about that but didn't think she would travel so far with a new baby." Memories of the evil spirits crept through his head. "But I will call and ask. If she's there, I'll drive down and bring her back. Thanks for your help."
"Mai pen rai," Siriwan answered. "I will watch for Nuang. If I see her, I’ll let you know. Good luck, Surat. My prayers are with you."
He drove back to his house hoping Nuang would be there, but she wasn't. He slid his cell phone from his belt and sighed.
Nuang's mother, Nui, didn't like him much and she didn't hide it from anyone. The old woman tolerated him only because he was her daughter's husband. His feelings toward her were mutual. Reluctantly, he dialed her number. He winced at the sound of her voice.
"Sawasdee krup," he said with forced politeness. "I am Surat."
There was a noticeable silence before Nui spoke. "I know who you are. Did Nuang have her baby? Is she okay?" Nui didn't make any attempt at customary Thai politeness. She simply asked her typical pointed questions.
"Yes, she had a baby girl. Do you mean you haven't seen her?"
"How could I? You keep her locked away in Chiang Mai. You do know where she is, don't you?"
Surat's chest tightened. "No, I don't. She left the hospital, but she didn't come home."
"How could you lose your wife and your baby?" the old woman shrieked through the phone. "What kind of a husband are you? I always knew you were no good. I told you..."
Surat turned off his phone. He didn't want to listen to her ranting. He hadn't lost Nuang; she had lost herself and he was worried. If she hadn't gone to Siriwan's house and if she hadn't gone to her mother's, then he had no idea where she might have gone. On impulse he drove to the bus station. It was only a hunch, but maybe someone had seen her.
Buses arrived and departed Chiang Mai at all hours of the day and night, but the terminal was quiet when Surat entered. He approached the ticket counter and asked loud enough for everyone to hear, "Did anyone see a woman with a very young baby here today? I'm her husband. It's very important that I know where she has gone. She is not well and needs her medication."
It was a lie, but he didn't care.
"Does she have braided hair?" one woman behind the counter asked.
"Yes, yes she does. Have you seen her?"
"Earlier, when I first came to work, I sold a ticket to a woman with a baby. Her hair was in braids. She looked ill. She bought a ticket to Phitsanulok." The girl glanced at her watch. "She should have arrived there already."
A woman with braided hair and a baby. It had to be Nuang. Surat ran from the bus terminal. If he drove fast enough, he would be in Phitsanulok by morning.
At a stop light he counted the money in his wallet: less than 1,200 baht. Probably enough for gasoline and food, but just barely.
He stopped at an ATM to withdraw extra money from his account. It registered a balance of 200 baht. That wasn't possible. Over the last few months he had saved several thousand baht for when the baby was born. He tried again with the same results.
"Shit," he said aloud. Not only had Nuang ran away, but she had taken all of t
heir money with her. He hoped she would spend it on the baby.
He ran their balance to zero and drove south toward Phitsanulok.
It was five o'clock in the morning and still dark when he coasted to a stop in front of Nui's house. He sat in the car and waited until he saw a light shine from inside. Then he walked to the door and knocked. In a moment, Nui pulled the door open. The old woman looked tired.
"Good morning," he said, his tone cordial. "May I speak to Nuang?"
"Why are you here?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed in contempt. "I told you last night that I haven’t seen Nuang."
"I don't believe you," his courteous smile faded. "I want to see my wife, and I want to see her now."
Nui hesitated as if calculating her next remark. She tilted her head back and stared down her nose. "If you were a better husband, Nuang would be at your house and we wouldn't be talking."
Her words grated at his exhaustion. He forced himself calm. He knew he would never win an argument with Nui's sharp tongue. "Please just listen for a minute. Yesterday I went to work and when I came home Nuang was gone. The hospital said she had a baby one day and checked herself out the next. A woman at the bus station said Nuang had bought a ticket to Phitsanulok. I thought she had come here. If she's not here, then I'm very worried."
"Nuang didn't come here and I am worried, too. Maybe she went to her sister's house. Neet has a baby of her own. I think that must be it. Wait for a minute and I’ll go with you."
Neither spoke as they made the short drive. Neet was already awake and clearly surprised to see Nui and Surat together. "Is everything okay?"
"We don't know," Nui answered. "Surat has lost Nuang. We hoped she would be here."
Surat ignored Nui's barb and explained about Nuang's recent odd behavior, and the voices that whispered in her ears. He told them how nervous she seemed every time they talked about their baby. He sensed something was wrong but he didn't know what.
For two hours they discussed Nuang's unusual behavior and where she might have gone. Later, they called her brother, Anan, in Pattaya, and her sister, Itta, in Scotland. They didn't expect either to know more than themselves, but they wanted to let the others know what was going on in case Nuang contacted either of them.