by J. F. Gump
Jon sat at his kitchen table and read the Bangkok Post. He found it interesting to read about America and Europe as viewed by the Asian press. He couldn't help but feel it was a more accurate account than what he got from his hometown paper in America.
After a long while the shower stopped. He wondered if there was any hot water left in Pattaya. A minute later, the woman stepped out wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before. They stared at each other for a second before he spoke, "I don't remember your name."
"I am Nuang. Your name is Jon."
He laughed despite the pounding in his head. "As amazing as it may seem, I do remember my own name. But that's about all I remember. Do you know why I invited you here?"
Nuang fidgeted with the towel in her hands. Her face flushed slightly. "You want to have sex with me? You can, if you want. I am clean now."
This time Jon blushed. "Is that what I told you last night?"
She shook her head. "No. Last night you only said I could sleep in your condo, so that's what I did. I didn't touch your stuff, either."
As good as her English was her answer confused him.
"What stuff are you talking about?"
"I don't know. It's what you said. I don't know the English word stuff, but whatever it is, I left yours alone." She remembered seeing him naked in the shower earlier. She wondered if that was what the word meant. "Maybe I saw your stuff, but I didn't touch it."
"Stuff is slang for what belongs to me. Things like my clothes, my money, my passport, and my airplane ticket."
"Oh." Her face flushed even more. "Then I didn't see your stuff either. It was something else that I saw. I only thought maybe it was your stuff."
Jon wiped his hands across his face. They were talking in circles. He understood every word, but had no idea what she was saying. "What stuff did you see?"
"I didn't see any stuff." She lowered her eyes. "I only saw you in the shower. Now I know that wasn't your stuff."
Jon was suddenly flustered. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "I'm hungry. I think we should get something to eat."
Nuang was happy they had stopped talking about his stuff. "If you have food, I can cook for you. I'm a very good cook."
"I have food in the refrigerator, but nothing I would trust eating. There's a restaurant nearby. They have American and Thai food. I think it’s safer if we eat there. We'll go shopping while we're out. Then you can cook dinner for both of us. It's been a long time since I've had a home cooked meal."
Nuang nodded and smiled. She wondered if this was why he had invited her to stay with him. Maybe he wanted his own Thai cook. He had certainly paid her enough for something. If he wanted a cook, she would make him the best Thai meal he had ever eaten.
They got plenty of long stares from the staff as they walked through the condo lobby. No one said anything, but their sly smiles made their thoughts clear. Jon broke into a sticky sweat. He had an urge to introduce her to everyone but he didn't. He could do that later.
After a leisurely lunch, they went shopping at Big C. First he bought her some clothes which he thought were more appropriate for his new employee. It dawned on him that this was the first time in his life he had ever taken a woman shopping for clothes. He was surprised. He could tell by the look on her face that his small generosity made her happy.
Next they went to the grocery section. Jon turned the cart over to her and told her to buy anything she wanted. Then he went to the book rack and busied himself finding something to read.
Forty minutes later she returned with the cart brim full of fruit, bread, milk, snacks, and a lot of Thai things he didn't recognize. He frowned at the cart.
Nuang shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Have I bought the wrong things?"
Jon stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wasn't concerned about what she bought but the quantity gave him pause. The idea of lugging kilos of food in the midday heat made him grimace. He looked up at her. Her anxiety was obvious. He was sure she would cry if he said anything. He let a small teasing smile pull at his lips. "You forgot to buy me beer." It was a lie. He’d seen bottles at the bottom of the cart.
Her return smile was priceless. "I bought you beer already." She moved a few items and extracted a bottle of Carlsberg. "See? I think of everything."
"You sure did," Jon laughed at her excitement. He was sure she hadn't thought about carrying everything back to the condo. He put his book in the cart. "Let's go then."
At the checkout counter, Nuang glanced nervously at Jon as the number of bags grew. She wished she had bought only one cantaloupe instead of two. Same thing for the pineapples and banana bunches.
Jon pocketed his change and grabbed plastic bag handles. Nuang did the same. She was careful to let Jon get the heavier ones. The cashier had to help pick up the last two bags.
Other customers watched their efforts in amusement. One man applauded as Nuang and Jon left the store.
The plastic straps cut sharp into the bends of their fingers. They stopped three times before they reached the mall exit. They could rest the bags on the ground but they couldn't let go, else they would never get them all picked up again.
At their last stop inside the mall, Jon told Nuang they would take a baht-bus back to the condo. One was always parked outside.
But this time it wasn't there. Jon took a deep breath, "We'll catch one on the street."
He knew that wasn't a sure thing at this time of the day, at least not one with enough room for all their bags. He started toward the condo and Nuang followed close behind.
Every baht-bus that passed them was filled with passengers. The drivers didn't slow down or even look in their direction. The sun was merciless. Sweat trickled through his hair and down his back. Stinging drops slid into his eyes and made him blink.
"My fingers hurt too much, Khun Jon," Nuang whined behind him.
"So do mine. Let's stop and rest for a minute."
Nuang didn't need any encouragement. Immediately, she plopped her bags to the sidewalk. The relief was instant. She wiggled her fingers to make sure they still worked. They tingled with an odd mixture of pain and delight.
Jon sat his load on the ground. The biting pain in his fingers eased but his sweating didn't. He looked back at Nuang. She was sweating, too. He smiled to himself. He knew it was hot when a Thai sweats. After a minute he was ready to continue. "Are you ready?" he asked Nuang.
Clearly she wasn't but she nodded yes anyway. She stood and started forward.
As Jon lifted his bags, one split at the seams and the beers clanked to the sidewalk. Two bottles broke.
"Shit fucking bags!" he shouted. He looked at Nuang and lowered his voice. "Okay, never mind. I’ll buy more later."
He turned and walked away. He had gone several meters before he realized Nuang wasn't behind him. He looked back to see her struggling to slip unbroken bottles into her own bags. He was impressed at her selfless act of ingenuity. She stood and continued forward with her extra load. He waited for her to catch up.
"Thank you," he said, meaning it.
"Mai pen rai, ka," she smiled. "Let's hurry. It's too hot in Thailand today."
She set off at a fast walk and he followed close behind.
They dropped their bags just inside the door. Jon rushed to the bathroom and washed the sweat from his face and eyes.
Nuang grabbed a tissue and dabbed daintily at her face. Her make-up was probably ruined already. She sat at the kitchen table and looked at the mounds of food strewn across on the floor. Then she looked at the refrigerator. She wondered if it would all fit inside.
Jon returned from the bathroom. "I think we have too much stuff," he said.
"You can never have too much stuff, Jon, even if it's more than you can carry."
Somehow he found her logic indisputable. Together, they found a place for everything Nuang had bought.
Afterwards, Jon took a shower. When he finished, Nuang did the same. By the time she stepped from the bathroom, J
on was asleep. As quietly as possible, Nuang began preparing dinner. She took her time. She would let Jon sleep before waking him to eat.
Without any disturbances, Nuang was able to think. She pondered her situation. Less than two days in Pattaya and already she was living with a farang. An image of Surat flashed before her eyes. It was followed by a sharp pang of guilt.
She wasn't really living with the farang, she reasoned with herself. She had only slept one night in his extra room. Besides, she and Surat were finished now so what difference did it make. She hadn't planned to move in with a man when she left the temple. It had just happened. She had done nothing wrong. He had already said he didn't want sex, but maybe he was joking. Or maybe not. She didn't know. She had no idea what he wanted from her. If it was a cook, he had one now.
Chapter 28
Mike Johnson awoke that same Sunday a few minutes past noon. He would have slept longer if it hadn't been for the hotel cleaning crew. They weren't intentionally noisy, but they weren't intentionally quiet, either. They were just doing their job.
He showered to shake off last night's beers and the jetlag. Later, he ordered a sandwich from room service. It wasn't very good, but it didn't cost much, either. It sort of balanced out.
It was two o'clock when he finally emerged from his room. Work was still two weeks away and for now he was officially on vacation. He hadn't yet figured a way to charge his personal expenses to his boss, but he would think of something.
He stopped at the hotel Lobby Bar and had a beer before catching a baht-bus south on Beach Road. The afternoon air was hot and humid, almost suffocating. The cool season was coming, but not fast enough. Smells of warm seawater and hot blacktop permeated the scanty breeze. He saw the sign for the Tahitian Queen, the TQ.
A long time ago the TQ had been his favorite go-go bar in Pattaya. They played good old rock-n-roll and they had the best looking dancers in town. More importantly, it was air conditioned. He rang the buzzer for the driver to stop.
The TQ was dim to the point of darkness. It took a minute before he saw anything more than shadows. The bar seats were all taken. He stumble-felt his way to one of the elevated tables surrounding the dance stage. A hostess took his order and returned a moment later with his drink.
The go-go girls were tempting as hell, but he had no desire to take any of them home. In fact, he had felt no sexual urge at all since Susan had died. Not even the early morning erections he used to have.
One girl came by and asked if he wanted company but he declined. He wasn't here to get laid, he was here to cool off and have a drink or two.
Customers came and went, but mostly they came. In a while nearly every seat in the bar was taken. The tables on both sides of him were occupied by young German tourists oozing money and hormones. The bar-girls swarmed to them like fruit flies.
By the time he finished his third beer he was ready to leave. He waited for an opening through the crowd, and then started his exit. He sucked in his stomach and inched his way from his seat. His ribs slid across the tabletop. When he was sure he was at the bottom of the elevated area, he stepped toward the aisle and into empty air.
Mike fell hard, but his chest remained perched atop the table. The table was bolted to the floor and didn't move. The impact pushed savagely against his rib cage and knocked the breath from him.
Immediately bar-girls were holding him and asking if he was okay. After a few breathless seconds his wind returned and he inhaled deep. The pain in his left side was fierce. He tried to smile at the hostesses but it came out more like a grimace. He hurried to the toilet thinking he would be sick from the intensity of the pain.
He stayed in the restroom until his nausea eased. He examined his chest and ribs. Except for a fast-forming bruise, everything looked normal. But it hurt like hell every time he breathed. He practiced standing straight and moving without wincing. After a minute he was sure he could walk without anyone noticing anything was wrong. Wearing his best smile, Mike exited the toilet and left the TQ.
Outside, the heat had increased to a broil. It almost took his mind off his ribs. He headed down a side street toward Second Road to catch a baht-bus back to his hotel. Each step jolted a fresh reminder of his accident. He felt stupid. He could imagine explaining to people that he had hurt himself falling off a bar stool. Actually, most people who knew him wouldn't be surprised. The thought made him laugh; the sharp pain made him stop.
Mike passed a small store with coolers of cold beer and a plastic display case filled with cigarettes. Considering his pain, he figured he might need something to help him sleep.
He stepped inside the shop and bought a pack of Marlboro Lights and two beers. Then, on impulse, he got two more beers. Emergency supply, he reasoned. The shop lady put everything into a plastic bag. He paid and continued down the street. The extra weight wasn't much, but the pain it caused was enough to make him wish he hadn't bought the beer.
When he reached Second Road, he flagged down the first empty baht-bus that came by. In Pattaya the baht-buses come in two styles. One has a high cab on the back and can be boarded standing up. The other has a low cab and requires some bending. This baht-bus had a low cab.
As Mike bent down, a strange click-pop echoed through his body. The pain didn't seem any worse but the sound panicked him. Jesus, he thought, I must have broken a rib. It haunted him all the way back to his hotel.
He was more careful exiting the baht-bus but the click-pop happened again anyway. He paid the driver and eased himself through the lobby of the Amari Orchid Hotel.
In the privacy of his room, Mike examined himself closely. He discovered he could cause the click-pop just by breathing deep. Not only could he hear it, but he could also feel it with his hand. That wasn't good.
He drank two beers while deciding what to do. He knew there wasn't much anyone could do for broken ribs except wait for them to heal. He also knew if the break was bad enough he could end up with a punctured lung or worse.
By the time he finished the second beer, his pain had eased a little. Either he had become used to it or the alcohol had numbed his senses. Whichever it was, he was thankful. Still he decided a visit to the hospital was a good idea.
One hour and multiple x-rays later the doctor confirmed the broken rib. He also said there was nothing he could do except prescribe something for the pain. Mike paid his bill, collected his medicine, and returned to his room. He washed down a pill with beer and waited.
When the pain persisted, he took another pill for good measure. The pain never went away, but in a while he didn't care. The beer and drugs did their jobs remarkably well.
He tried lying down but couldn't get comfortable. He hurt less when he was sitting or standing. On a whim he set up his laptop computer to play a game of solitaire. His conversation with the young man on the airplane drifted through his thoughts.
"It's an incredible love story," the kid had said. "You should write a book."
By the time his computer finished booting up, Mike had decided the young man was right. He opened his word processor and wrote his first sentence. In a state of alcohol and pain killer mindlessness, words flowed like magic from his fingertips. By the time he stopped, he had written his first 7,000 words. That night he slept sitting up because it was too painful to lie down.
The next morning the pain in his side was excruciating. Sitting, standing, breathing, and even going to the bathroom hurt. He took multiple pills and drank the over priced beer from the mini bar in his room. In a while the pain eased and he returned to his writing.
Mike didn't know it at the time, but pain killers, alcohol, and writing was to become his daily routine for the coming days. Also, he didn't know that his future was being cast by events hundreds of kilometers north of Pattaya.
Chapter 29
The day after Laht left the Buddhist temple, his family had a party to celebrate the end of his religious devotion and the beginning of his new career. Laht smiled through it all even though he didn't feel
like smiling. He was still hurting from Somjit's blunt rejection.
His father, Isara, didn't mention their meeting of ten days before, and neither did Laht. They talked only about his future as a doctor. Within a month, Laht would be joining the staff at the Chiang Mai Hospital and opening his own practice not far away. His father was arranging everything. Laht knew he should be excited, but he wasn't. It took a concentrated effort just to act enthusiastic at the polite congratulations everyone offered.
As the party wound down, Laht was introduced to a beautiful young lady—an engineer his father had casually pointed out. Laht had no choice except to talk with her, but his mind was elsewhere.
The woman made it clear they could be very good friends. She even asked him to join her for a drink at her place after the party. He made excuses, then apologized to excess hoping he hadn't hurt her feelings. At the end of the evening Laht went to bed alone.
He lay awake letting his thoughts wander. They always came back to Somjit. He was embarrassed by how he had let himself believe she actually had loved him or that he had loved her. He must look like the ultimate fool to his father and everyone at the temple. No one, including his father, had said a word but he could imagine what they were thinking and how they must be laughing at him.
He had let himself fall in love with a common Thai and she had rejected him. It was the worst thing he could imagine. A man of his stature, his education, and his future turned away by a Thai nobody. That night he cried for his broken heart and his loss of face. When he finally slept, he dreamed of Somjit.
Laht spent the next two days at his parents' house. He never left the grounds, not even to take his new car—a present from his father—for a drive. He spent most of his time in his room sorting through everything that was his life. He packed the things he wanted to take with him to Chiang Mai and boxed up what he couldn't throw away. A trash can collected the rest.
It was early on Saturday morning when Laht left his parents' house to start his new life in Chiang Mai. His new Toyota purred like a kitten and jumped whenever he stepped on the throttle. His father had bought top of the line.