by J. F. Gump
It was after two o'clock in the morning when the night manager ordered him to leave. He hadn't meant to sleep so long and was glad when the man awoke him, even if he wasn't very polite about it.
Bleary eyed, he steered his car onto the road heading south. He arrived in Phitsanulok at five in the morning.
Surat still hadn't decided exactly what he was going to do with Nuang's clothes. Last night, when he left Chiang Mai, he was determined to go to his mother-in-law's house and dump everything on her doorstep. He had even practiced what he would say to the old witch. Now that the time had come, he didn’t want to confront her. Nui had a sharp tongue that could lash with the best of them. Despite his mood, he wasn't up to doing verbal battle with Nuang's mother.
He decided to go to Neet's house instead. He would dump Nuang's things there and tell Neet everything he knew. He would also make sure she understood exactly how he felt about Nuang and the things she had done.
It was still dark when he parked in front of Neet's house. He was surprised to see her door open and the lights on so early in the morning. The rest of the neighborhood was still asleep. Maybe it was for the better, he thought, at least he wouldn't have to wake her up. He gathered an armload of clothes from the back seat and started toward the house. As he neared the doorway, Nui stepped out. Their bodies bumped, but not hard.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. There was no smile on her face. She wondered if Anan had called him, too. She was sure he had or else he wouldn't be in Phitsanulok at this time of the day. "You almost knocked me down."
He cringed. She was the last person he wanted to see. "Where's Neet?"
"That's none of your business. What sort of trash are you bringing in here?"
"It's your daughter's clothes. I want them out of my house and I want her out of my life." His words came out bitter cold.
"Why would you do that to your own wife? Nuang is the best woman you'll ever know."
Surat stared at her. Ever since he and Nuang had met, Nui had been nothing but a pain in his ass. She had never approved of his marriage to her daughter, and there had never been a formal wedding with family and relatives to help celebrate. If Nui had ever said one kind word to him, it was because she wanted something. He didn't really hate her; he was just sick and tired of the whole family.
"Don't play stupid with me," he snapped. "Anan called me and I'm sure he called you. But I know something you don't, and it's going to kill you."
Nui tensed. "If you know anything, it will be the first time in your life."
"I have found Nuang's baby and now I know the truth." Venom poisoned each syllable.
"What do you mean? You're not making sense. Is the baby okay?"
"No, the baby's not okay," he spit his words at her. "The baby is farang!"
"Oh!” Nui paled, looking as if she might faint. She stumbled her way to a chair.
Surat didn't move to help her. "Nuang has been having sex with farangs and now she has given birth to a farang baby. She probably doesn't even know which farang is the father." His voice rose to a shout: "Your daughter is nothing but a fucking whore!"
Nui's face burned red and her anger exploded. "It's your own mother who was the whore."
Surat glared. "You old lizard, I should hit you for that."
"I'm telling you the truth!" she screamed.
"You're a liar!" he screamed back. "My mother was never a whore. She was married to a Thai soldier. He died in battle; he was a hero. She died giving birth to me. It's true because my grandmother said it was true." He lowered his voice to a snarl. "Don't ever try to pass the sins of your daughter onto my mother."
"You're a fool," she hissed back. "I'm going to tell you some truths before lives get ruined."
"Lives have been ruined already and you know it. What do you know about truth? You have spent your whole life twisting simple truths into grotesque lies. You have done everything you could to make me look like an idiot and a fool. You never even accepted me as your daughter's husband. To you I was nothing but something to be mocked and scorned. Nothing I did ever pleased you. You have always hated me and I don't even know why. What did I ever do to you?"
"You were born the son of a farang," Nui spat out the words. "You are the piece of foreign bird shit that married my daughter."
"Fuck you!" Surat growled through clinched teeth. "I am not foreign bird shit. My mother and father were Thai and so am I." Veins pulsed at his temples. "Fuck you and your whole family." He turned to leave.
"Fuck your mother," she screamed.
Surat stopped. His hands balled into fists.
Nui spoke fast and harsh. "I know your mother, Surat. We grew up together. It was during the Vietnam war. Your mother slept with a half of the American soldiers stationed here before one of them was stupid enough to fall in love with her. He got your mother pregnant and you were born. You are half farang. If Nuang gave birth to a half-farang baby, it came from your seed. My daughter is not a whore."
Surat looked down at his hands. They weren't as dark as some who drove for a living. Neither was his face. He had always taken pride in having the complexion of the upper class. Other than his naturally light skin, he was Thai, 100% Thai. If Nuang had given birth to a half-farang baby, it wasn't his.
"You're a liar."
He ran to his car and threw what was left of Nuang's possessions into the street. He gave Nui one last sneer and then drove away. He headed south toward Pattaya. Nui's words haunted him every kilometer.
Neet arrived home less than two minutes after Surat had left. Nui was standing on the front stoop staring at the clothes, handbags and junk jewelry littering the street. Her face was frozen into a mask of shock and depression.
"Mama, are you okay?"
"No," Nui said. "I'm not okay. We must get to Pattaya right away. Did you get our tickets? What time do we leave?"
Neet looked away from her mother's penetrating stare. "We couldn't get a bus with three open seats until tomorrow. Itta used the money to buy herself a plane ticket to Bangkok. She has gone to your house to pack her things. She’ll be in Pattaya by tonight. I hope you aren't angry."
Nui gave her a disapproving stare but bit her tongue. "Maybe it's just as well. Itta knows Pattaya and I don't. I would only slow her down." Images of Surat's angry face burned in her mind. "Let's go to the temple and pray for her safety, and for Nuang's safety, too." Her instincts told her Nuang would need all the prayers she could get.
Chapter 41
Laht and Somjit checked out of their hotel at six that same morning. Ten minutes later they were beyond the city limits of Phitsanulok and heading south. The kilometers rolled past in quiet monotony.
They were just north of Bangkok when the rain came. The traffic continued to move, but at a much slower pace. Laht drove as fast as he felt comfortable, but stayed in the slow lane and let the more daring drivers pass him by.
As they cleared the first tollbooth on the Bangkok freeway, Somjit announced that she had to stop. Laht was irritated that she hadn't thought of that before, but kept his thoughts to himself. He cut through a narrow gap in the traffic and took the first exit. At a gas station Somjit went to the restroom and Laht bought them hot dogs, milk, and snacks.
It took forty-five minutes of stop and go traffic before they reentered the freeway. It was bumper-to-bumper madness that inched forward only slightly faster than the vehicles on the snarled streets below. He glanced at his watch: it was almost four. At the rate he was moving he wouldn't be in Pattaya for hours. For that matter, he might not even be out of Bangkok for hours. He sighed deeply and glared at the long line of cars ahead of him.
Surat was driving southbound by six. Traffic was light and he made good time. About eighty kilos north of Bangkok, he stopped to buy fuel for both him and his taxi.
He hadn't slept much the night before and he was tired, and maybe a little hung-over, too. He thought about taking a nap but was afraid he wouldn't wake up any time soon. The sky had grown overcast, looking
more like a long steady rain than a hit-and-run storm.
As he pulled back onto the highway, the first drop of rain splattered on his windshield. He raced along in the fast lane until he felt his tires hydroplane on the wet pavement. He edged his way behind a mini-van moving at a more cautious pace.
He stayed in the impromptu convoy until he reached the first tollbooth on the Bangkok freeway. There he flared away from the others, looking for the shortest line to pay his toll. It was congested, but he was through in less than two minutes.
As he exited the tollbooth, he glanced to his right looking for an opening in the flow of traffic. In the car next to him, he saw the woman from Chiang Mai, the woman with Nuang's baby. The man was there, too, driving the car. Surat's mind raced. Why were they here in Bangkok? It occurred to him that maybe he was the reason they were here. Maybe they were running away from him. Maybe he had scared them so much that they were afraid to stay in Chiang Mai. Then a second thought came to him: Maybe they were headed to wherever Nuang was hiding; maybe they had found her. He remembered the man saying that his father was good at finding people. He squeezed his taxi into the lane directly behind their fancy Toyota.
He had followed them for less than two kilos when the man suddenly veered to his left and exited the freeway. Surat tried to follow and almost had an accident. The exit disappeared in his rearview mirror.
"Shit," he said aloud, and then regained his composure. It really didn't matter if he caught up with them or not. All they had was the baby, and it was not his. They might have led him to Nuang, but maybe they wouldn't have, either. Losing them was no great loss, except now he would have to deal with Nuang's brother Anan. It wasn't a thought he relished, but one he could live with as long as he got the chance to tell Nuang to fuck-off in person.
Chapter 42
Nuang awoke on Saturday morning to the sound of the condo door opening and closing. She glanced up at the clock; it was after ten. She turned and saw Jon standing in the doorway. He was smiling.
"I have a surprise," he said.
"Your company wants to give me a car with a driver?"
Jon laughed. "Even better, I hope." He pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket. Inside were five small blue pills, diamond shaped.
"Are those drugs?"
"It's Viagra."
Nuang blushed as his unabashed intentions unleashed a wave of passion that left her tingling. "How does it work?"
"I don't know."
"I will take a shower."
"And I," he said, slipping a tablet into his mouth, "will take a Viagra."
"Thank you, teelak," Nuang giggled as she ran tip-toe to the shower.
She took a quick shower and hurried back to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her in pretend shyness. "Is the pill working yet?"
"I don't know. Maybe it won't work. I'll take a shower and give it some time."
"Okay, teelak. I will wait for you." She prayed to Buddha that the pill was potent.
Nuang allowed her imagination to run wild while she waited for Jon to return. She hadn't felt so sexually aroused since the night she practically raped him. But now she felt different. She felt an emotional need as powerful as her physical desire. Both intensified with each passing second. She hoped the Viagra worked as advertised.
Nuang feigned nonchalance when Jon lay down beside her. Then she slid her arms around him.
"I would like it if you touched me," she urged, pulling his hand between her thighs. She moaned softly as his fingers found their mark.
She moved her own hand to his manhood. It was swollen yet soft and flexible. "Please dear Buddha," she said. "Please let the Viagra be magic."
As if her prayers were answered, his penis grew larger and stiffened in her hand. She squirmed as his fingers rubbed incessantly.
"Please take me," she whispered.
Her heart pounded wildly as he slid between her legs and joined his body with hers.
Afterwards, Jon held her close and whispered loving things in her ear. His words made her happy inside. Later, when he told her he never wanted her to leave, she knew he meant it.
They make love twice again before the afternoon passed into early evening, each time was as passionate as the first. By the time the Viagra lost its effect, both glowed with a closeness far more intimate than friendship.
Nuang felt safe with Jon holding her tight in his arms. Her terror from the night before had faded as she allowed herself to believe that Jon would always be there to protect her. For the first time since running away from Chiang Mai, she felt at peace.
Later, when Jon suggested that they go out for dinner, a small pinprick of apprehension crept back inside, but when she looked into his eyes she knew everything would be okay. She spent the next hour making herself beautiful for Jon. Night had fallen by the time they left the condo.
Anan had spent most of most of that Saturday morning sweating, shooing flies from his face, and battling the hordes of tiny ants that had taken a liking to his hands and clothes. He was hot, tired, and irritated. Except for the few times he'd dozed off, he'd spent the night keeping an eye on the entrance to the condo.
It was possible Nuang had sneaked away when he slept, but more likely she was still inside. He looked at his watch—it was after noon.
At one o'clock he bought chicken and rice from a passing food vendor. Shortly after two o'clock, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep.
Anan's afternoon nap was interrupted by an extreme fullness in his lower abdomen. A clammy sweat wet his face. He had experienced food poisoning before and he knew what was coming. If it was bad enough, the next few hours would be misery. For the moment he needed a toilet and he needed it fast. He cursed the street vendor for selling him tainted food and sped on his motorcycle to the Amari Orchid Hotel.
Inside the hotel he went directly to the restrooms. The mess that poured from his body smelled worse than the entire Pattaya sewer system.
Eventually his symptoms subsided and he felt almost normal. Gingerly he cleaned himself and left the toilet. He looked at his watch—it was seven o'clock.
As Anan strolled through the hotel lobby, he noticed a familiar face at the bar. He couldn't help but stare. He was almost to the exit before he realized who the man was. His name was Mike Johnson, the farang lover of his dead sister Math—the person he blamed for her death. He couldn't imagine what the man was doing in Pattaya. Probably here as a sex tourist looking for any Thai girl who would go with his ugly farang ass; just like he had done to his sister.
Suddenly he saw this as a chance to even things up; to return the hurt this farang has caused him and his family. He walked into the bar and took a seat next to Mike.
Mike had been cooped up in his hotel for three weeks. At first he had stayed inside because his ribs hurt so much that he could barely move, then later because he had become so engrossed in writing the life story of Math that he didn't want to leave his room. He was surprised by how much he had written—over 100,000 words if his word processor was correct. He was amazed at what could be accomplished when working fourteen hours a day.
He had finished the story's rough draft hours earlier and now he was bored stiff. His chest still hurt but less than before, and his ribs no longer popped when he took deep breaths. He figured he had healed enough to go out for a while. He showered, shaved, and put on fresh clothes.
He entered the open-air lounge of the Amari Orchid Hotel. It was the farthest he had ventured since breaking his ribs. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer, and then found a position that didn't put pressure on his left side.
Mike gazed casually at the other customers at the bar. All were Westerners except for one Thai lady and she was sitting with one. The overhead fans moved enough air to be felt, but not enough to chase away the heat. An annoying dampness gathered on his forehead and upper lip. The other faces in the lounge glistened with the same uncomfortable stickiness.
He wiped at his brow with a thin paper napkin. He lit a cigarette
, leaned back, and pretended that tropical heat didn't bother him. He knew the others were doing the same thing. He smiled to himself at the thought.
Halfway through his first beer he sensed someone sliding onto the stool next to his. Nonchalantly, he turned to look at the newcomer expecting to see another round-eye. He was surprised to see a Thai man. He was even more surprised to realize he recognized the face.
"Sawasdee krup, Khun Mike," the Thai man said, his practiced smile disarming. "Do you remember me? I am Anan, the brother of Math."
"Of course I remember you." Shock was the mildest emotion racing through him. Anan was the last person he either expected or wanted to see. If it had been any of Math's family besides Anan, he would have been excited beyond joy. As hard as Math had tired to make him friends with her brother, it had never worked. Neither had budged beyond superficial politeness. It was a mutual dislike. Mike managed a semi sincere smile. "How are you and your family?"
"We are fine," Anan said. "I never expected to see you again. Can I buy you a drink?"
"No, let me buy. I can charge it to my company."
Mike waved down the barmaid. She took their order, put the beers in front of them, and moved away.
"Chok dee krup, cheers and good luck," Mike said, and both men drank.
Anan wiped his mouth daintily, "Are you here for business or on holiday?"
"Business, but only for a month or two. Speaking of business, I hope yours is booming."
"My business is very good. I'm moving into a larger office next month." He wasn’t about to let this farang know that his business was falling apart. It might take the edge off of what he was about to say.
"That's great." Mike reached over and patted him on the shoulder, the gesture more polite than warm.
Anan almost recoiled at the farang's touch but managed to keep his smile in place. "Thank you for asking."