You stupid fucking American old geezer! she shouted in English. You think you just can come to our home country, hurt our girls, then buy them coffee and shit to make better?
Thinking she was about to come at me, I stood and backed away.
Siskit caught her wrist, holding her back. Stop it, Prija. He didnt do it. They both spoke in Thai.
Who, then? She glared at me. If not this American old bastard.
Siskit told her about the men whod tried to drag her away. Prija narrowed her eyes on me as her sister told the story. Her face softened a little, but not much. Her eyes, like glowing dark embers, started to cool.
Prija was a very pretty brunette with a shapely petit figure accentuated by her tight tan skirt. Without the scowl, her face was more pubescent than the countenance of a young woman.
Siskit stood and reached for my hand. I thank you for that you did. Them mens would want to hurt me so much.
Yeah. Prija flipped her hair back over her shoulder. Thanks. Sit now. She took the other chair next to Siskit.
It was only four men. I spoke in their language, smiling at Siskit. Not six. And just one gun. I sat and watched Prijas face.
It took her a moment to respond. You call that Thai?
You speak our language so well, Siskit said. Where did you learn?
Here. I nodded toward the street, where the daytime vendors were beginning to filter in. In Ladprao.
Do you live here?
No. Im just a visiting American old bastard.
You came to find nice young girl, Prija said, to have fucking fun time you cant get in your own fucking country. Her eyes flared, ready to burn if I got too close.
I stood and shoved my chair back, then took money from my pocket, peeled off some 100-baht bills, and dropped them on the table.
Ratri swasdi, Siskit (Goodnight, Siskit).
Thats too much for two teas, Prija said in Thai. You have change coming.
Keep it. I stared at her for a moment, then turned to leave. You need it more than I do.
I smiled as I walked away.
Thats what Im talking about.
Chapter Two
Most of the girls take Sunday off, so I didnt bother going to Ladprao.
In the early afternoon, I took a tuc-tuc to Rattanakosin, the Old City. It lies in the center of Bangkok, on the banks of the Chao Phraya River. The area is filled with beautiful old buildings from Thailands rich past, when the country was called Siam.
I boarded an excursion boat to cruise down the river. At a table on the fantail, I ordered a bottle of red wine and light meal of phat kaphrao, stir-fried chicken with basil and chili.
While I enjoyed the leisurely meal and lazy cruise, I typed notes on my iPad. It was impossible to write anything meaningful, but I recorded my thoughts as they were brought out by the passing scenery.
Theres something evocative about drifting through a landscape; your imagination latches onto visions and turns them into flights of adventure.
A colorful ninth-century palace brings to mind a captive princess longing for the freedom of my passing boat.
An old man in a skiff, tossing a net into the murky water. I imagined him to be a spy, keeping watch on the palace.
A young man and girl strolling along the river-walk, hand in hand, reminded me of another couple, fifty years gone.
So easy to slip back into that fantasy world, where all things were possible. It would be only a short separation, I told her, then wed be together for the rest of our lives. We spent many evenings strolling and building the dreamy framework of our future.
But the war had different plans for us. A sea of sorrows awaited.
A blast on the ships whistle brought me back to the harsh present as the boat nosed into the dock.
* * * * *
Wednesday night, 1 a.m., I was back on the street.
I saw Prija leaning against a wall, chatting with one of the other girls. They wore tight micro-skirts and tube tops. As they talked, they glanced at their phones, occasionally clicking out a message, but always keeping an eye on the passing men.
I crossed the street, wanting to avoid her. Actually, I didnt want to avoid her; just avoid talking to her.
As I watched from a doorway, she pushed herself away from the wall and hurried to cut a man from the heard. I dont know what she saw, but she definitely wanted him. He was a well-dressed Thai, of middle age. Maybe a businessman.
The negotiations took only a minute. He gave her some money, then she took his hand to pull him toward a door leading to a series of small, dingy rooms.
I turned away. I dont know why that tiny drama bothered me. I knew before I left the hotel what shed be doing.
So why come to watch?
Three blocks away, I crossed the street and started back. At the little sidewalk café where Siskit and I had talked last Saturday night, I ordered tea, then turned on my iPad.
As I began to write, I was surprised by the flow-groove that opened before me.
Sometimes when I work, all I do is type. Most of it is trashed the next day when I edit the story, but other times I fall into a trance where the typing becomes writing. It might last a few minutes, or it might go on for hours. When Im in that channel, with my imagination carrying me along, I think of it as a flow-groove, a narrow channel twisting before me, leading I know not where. I so enjoyed the ride and opening of new vistas along the way.
The waitress came to ask if I needed anything else. I ordered a meal so I could continue to occupy the table without being bothered.
These writing channels open to me only rarely, and they usually occur after some emotional event. When Im in that groove, I have to stay there until it runs its course to that inevitable burnout of the flame, because it might be days or even weeks before it ignites again. The intervening time between these episodes, I spend on editing what Ive written.
I had no idea of the passing time until someone spoke to me in English.
What are you doing?
I knew it was Prija without looking up. I was writing.
Writing what? She sat at the table without being invited and took a piece of baked pork with her fingers.
Why dont you have a seat and eat my dinner? I said in Thai.
You dinner is cold.
I like it cold. Id forgotten all about it. What the hell? I glanced around at the street vendors starting their daily routines.
This happens every day at sunrise.
Sunrise?
Yeah. She leaned her elbows on the table, watching me. Are you senile as well as stupid?
Those two might be the same thing.
What are you writing? She craned her neck to see the screen of my iPad.
Nothing you could understand. I turned it toward her.
She read the page, then flipped to the previous page. She read and flipped again. This makes no sense.
Well, if youre going to read it backward, it might be hard for your pea brain to comprehend.
Pea brain? You talking about the vegetable or piss? She drank from my glass.
In your case, piss.
Your teas warm as piss. She held up the glass for the waitress to see.
I guess you know a lot about urine temperature.
I know a lot about a lot.
You come into my world uninvited, eat my food, insult my writing, drink my tea, and now I guess you expect me to pay for your drink as well.
Why not? You got money to burn. What are you doing here, stalking me?
The waitress brought her a fresh glass of tea.
I was waiting for Siskit so I could have an intelligent conversation, but I got you instead.
Youre lucky. I normally charge men for this.
For what? Obnoxious belligerence?
Most men get off on that.
Most men are idiots.
All men are idiots. She sipped her tea. Some are just half-idiots.
I take that as a compliment.
It wasnt meant to be.
Ive got to go before I puke.
Yeah, Ive got to go before Im bored to death.
I stood, left some money on the table, then took my iPad. See ya.
I hope not.
In my hotel room, I started a pot of coffee, then forgot about it.
Noon came, and still I worked at the computer.
At mid-afternoon, I sat back and folded my arms, staring at the screen.
Wow, 115 pages.
I was suddenly hungry and sleepy. Unable to decide which to do, I poured a cup of tary coffee.
* * * * *
Thursday night. I sat at the cafe table, watching Prija work. I tried to write, but it was nothing more than typing. She was very busy.
My phone played Johnny B. Goode. Hey, Number Three. I listened. Yeah, Im awake. What time is it in L. A.? After a moment. About 1:30 a.m. here. I didnt really want to talk to him, but we had to get this issue settled. I couldnt sleep.
Ive worked out new profit and loss projections, he said.
Why?
We think we could buy the heavy equipment for the project, then sell it when were finished. It would be a lot cheaper than renting or leasing the equipment.
We?
Number Two and me.
But we can write off leasing to reduce our tax obligation.
We can amortize the purchases, Three said.
No, it wont work.
Im sending you the P & L projections.
Send them, I raised my voice. But Im telling you it wont work.
Problems? Prija took the chair next to me.
I gotta go. Well talk later. I tossed my phone to the table.
Who was that?
Business partner, I said.
What kind of business?
Hospital renovation in Los Angles.
Sounds hard.
Yeah, I said, hard to get everyone on the same page.
What page?
I glanced at my watch; after 2 a.m., I tossed money on the table and grabbed my iPad to leave.
Why are you spying on me?
Actually, I thought Id get away without seeing you.
Youve been watching me all night.
Ive been working all night. I held up the computer for her to see.
I hope its not the same twaddle you were writing last night. She sat at the table, but I didnt.
No, this is mostly drivel and tripe.
Should be an improvement. Sit down. You look like youre about to take a runner.
I guess its too late for that.
I took the chair across from her. She waved the waitress over.
So youre like a voyeur? She spoke to the waitress. Hi, Ringy. Can we have two root beers?
Ringy smiled and went away for the drinks.
Why are you nice to her?
She used to work the street until she got too old.
That will happen to you, too. Probably next week.
Funny. Why do you come here?
I thought I might find intellectual stimulation, but all I get is boring conversation.
Stimulation cost money.
But boredom is free?
Until I get a paying customer. How about you? Wouldnt you like to buy some real stimulation?
I laughed. Why would I do that?
Why does any man?
Because they cant get a date with a real woman.
You dont think Im a real woman?
I think youre a
Ringy brought our root beers and set them on the table. Prija sipped her drink, then raised an eyebrow.
I think theres a time for banter, I said, and a time to shut up.
Why? Last Saturday night I called you an old American bastard.
The truth never hurt anyone.
Then tell me the truth about me.
All right. Youre a beautiful young woman.
Blush.
And working the street because you cant make the same amount of money in a store or a factory.
Her phone vibrated. She looked at the message but didnt reply to it.
Why is Siskit happy working in an export office for a fraction of the money you make?
Because I wont let her work here.
Oh, but its okay for you?
I know what Im doing.
What are you doing?
She stood. Going back to work. You can pay for the drinks.
I watched her walk away, then I left money for Ringy.
I love it. Just like the old days.
* * * * *
It was a little after two on Saturday night. All the tables at the little café were taken. I walked the opposite side of the street. My computer was in a backpack swung over my shoulder.
Prija wasnt at her usual spot.
I glanced up and down the street; nothing.
Soon, a fat little man emerged from the doorway across the street. Prija followed him out, adjusting her skirt.
Saxon.
She yanked me back from some place far away. Siskit. So good to see you.
She leaned toward me for a quick hug.
You watching Prija?
Um, yes, I was.
Many nights I stand here, watching. I worry some mean drunk will hurt her.
Has that happened before?
Oh, yes. So many.
Why does she do it?
Siskit waved. Across the street, Prija bobbed her head.
Is she looking at me?
I felt an urge to wave to her but kept a grip on the strap of my backpack.
Had she seen me earlier, watching?
She give all money to parents. Father has bad cancer. Mother must sit all time in wheel thing.
Oh, no. What type of cancer?
Lung.
Is he on chemo?
She looked at me. What is?
Um, chemicals they give by IV. I made a punching motion with my finger to an arm vein. Or maybe by pills.
Oh, yes. He must have all this. Cost is more of 300,000 baht on each month.
Radiation?
That he have six month back. Now all hair gone.
Im sorry to hear of this.
You must not say even one little word to Prija that I told of this.
All right.
Her phone beeped. She read the text, smiled, and clicked a reply. You promise not tell? she asked as she looked up at me.