Cross Currents (12 page)

Patch hurried to the back of the boat, then opened up a plastic sack and removed three slices of bread. He glanced at the distant form of his brother before walking back to the bow. “Have fun,” he said, ripping off a chunk of bread and tossing it next to Brooke. Within seconds, dozens of small fish, many with vertical yellow and black stripes, darted to the bread. Patch tossed another piece closer to Brooke—prompting scores of other fish, some brown with white spots, to rise from the reef and nibble at the offering.

Brooke was about to put her snorkel in her mouth when Patch tossed her a slice. She caught it, positioned her snorkel, and looked underwater. Hundreds of brilliantly colored fish surrounded her, seeking the falling bits of bread. She lowered the slice into the water, and the competing fish seemed to rise as one, countless miniature mouths pulling the bread from her hand, causing her to gasp into her snorkel. The fish churned below the surface, flashing like so many moths around a flame. Only the fish were every color—twisting bolts of yellow and blue, green and red. Several nibbled at her fingers and she laughed, brushing them away. Undeterred, they came at her again, and she kicked into deeper water, fleeing what was left of the bread. From five feet away, she watched the cloud of fish dart and devour, amazed by their patterns of color, the genius of their design.

She heard a splash and realized that Patch had jumped from the boat, holding a rope. He swam over to her, tossing more bread in her direction. “No!” she said, laughing, the fish materializing near her once again.

“They like you.”

“They're incredible.”

“I know,” Patch replied, ducking his head below the surface, smiling as she shied away from a large parrot fish that seemed interested in her toes. “Want to help me with something?”

“Sure.”

He motioned for her to follow him, and he kicked into deeper water, pointing out highlights of the reef—massive clams, a school of squid, and wondrous displays of coral. It took him only a few minutes to locate Lek's anchor, which lay in a sandy area next to the reef. The anchor was about twenty feet down, and Patch wondered whether he could retrieve it, understanding why Suchin had asked for help.

Removing his snorkel, he nodded to Brooke and handed her one end of the rope. “I'll be right back.”

“Be careful.”

Filling his lungs with as much air as possible, he leaned toward the anchor, then lifted his legs above the water, which propelled him downward. He kicked hard, the rope trailing behind him. Grabbing the anchor's midsection, he pulled himself lower, tightened his knees on either side of the steel, and then secured the rope.

The ascent took longer than he would have liked. His lungs ached, and his instincts urged him to inhale. He blew out air slowly, trying to appease his body, swimming with all his strength. He saw Brooke staring down at him, her silhouette seeming to block out the sunlight. She appeared almost naked, as lovely as any of the sea creatures he'd just seen.

Bursting through the surface, he gasped, filling his lungs with the sweet, humid air of the tropics. Brooke reached for his hand, holding him up, supporting him. He didn't need her help, but her hand felt reassuring against his, and he squeezed her fingers, thanking her.

“Now what?” she asked, letting go of him.

He saw that she was still clasping the other end of the rope. “Just a second,” he replied. “I'll bring the boat to you.” Swimming fast, he approached Lek's longboat, climbed an iron ladder hanging from its side, and pulled up his makeshift anchor. He started the engine, dipped the spinning propeller into the water, and headed in her direction.

After he shut off the engine, the longboat drifted toward her, and when she smiled, he couldn't help but wonder why Ryan had left. Brooke seemed more like a destination than a departure point. Though Patch didn't know her well, he was glad she had come to the island, that she wanted to help him escape. Somehow she appeared to understand his hopes and fears—something neither his parents nor his brother managed consistently.

Moving to the ladder, he reached down, toward the water, and helped her climb into the boat.

AFTER SCHOOL, SUCHIN AND NIRAN had gone home and changed out of their uniforms and into their beach attire. Suchin wore shorts and a tattered blue tank top, while Niran went shirtless. As they did most every school day, they played a game of soccer with their friends, cooled off in the bay, and then hurried to complete their chores before dinner.

Because the sun was nearing the distant horizon, almost all of the tourists had departed. The faded lounge chairs in front of Rainbow Resort were empty, and Suchin and Niran walked from chair to chair, picking up discarded bottles, cigarette butts, straws, and candy wrappers. Both children carried baskets, which they filled with the trash. They also stopped at each umbrella and folded it shut. While working, Suchin and Niran constantly scanned the sand for coins. Tourists often set down their change and forgot it after a beer or a long swim. Most afternoons, the children found anywhere from fifty to one hundred baht—enough money to pay for their family's dinner.

Reaching the end of Rainbow Resort's lounge chairs, Suchin and Niran put aside their trash-filled baskets but continued to walk. They weren't allowed to take anything from the vicinity of other resorts' chairs, so they moved toward the shoreline, still scanning the beach. Holding his net, Niran stepped into the shallows, searching for a new creature he could put in his tank. Suchin sang softly to herself, skipping along, moving to the beat of distant music. She was happy, since she'd found several ten-baht coins and a fifty-baht bill.

Not far ahead, several tourists threw a Frisbee back and forth. Smoke rose from an unseen fire. A kitten chased a crab. Some foreigners were learning how to scuba dive a stone's throw from shore. Suchin looked from sight to sight, then turned to her brother. “Do you ever want Frisbees and radios and sunglasses and anything to eat or drink?”

Niran dropped a crescent-shaped piece of coral. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you ever want everything that the foreigners have?”

“I don't know. We have a soccer ball. Sometimes we get sweets.”

Suchin rolled her eyes. “Is sand in your ears? Or in your brain? I'm asking if you want what we don't have. They're rich. We're poor. They can do anything they want.”

“So can we.”

“You know, I should just talk to myself. It'd be a better conversation.”

“Go ahead.”

She kicked sand at him and he stuck out his tongue at her, stepping away into deeper water. Chasing him, she raced into the shallows, his giggles infectious. She splashed him, and he reached down, grabbed some seaweed, and doubled back at her.

Niran ran at his sister, holding a fistful of seaweed, knowing that she hated it. She tried to avoid him but tripped, and he jumped on her, stuffing the seaweed under her shirt. For a few seconds, he succeeded in tormenting her, but she was too strong—pushing him off, then grabbing the seaweed and rubbing it against his face. They continued to laugh while struggling, rolling in the shallows, arms and legs entwined.

The pair twisted, and suddenly Niran was trapped underwater beneath her. Panicking, he grabbed her tank top and pulled himself up. The old fabric ripped, creating a hole from just below her collarbone to the middle of her belly. She yelled at him to let go, and he did, his smile and laughter gone. “It wasn't my fault,” he said, lowering himself into the water. “It wasn't—it wasn't.”

“You grabbed it!”

“But you were drowning me!”

Suchin looked back toward home, knowing that their mother would be upset. “She's going to kill us.”

“But it was an accident.”

“So?”

He finally sat up in the water. “I don't want to get in trouble.”

“You think I do?”

“What should we do?”

Suchin started to yell at him, angry that she was always the one who had to find solutions, wishing as she sometimes did that she had an older sister instead of a little brother. “We need to get some money for a new shirt.”

“How?”

“Sell something to the tourists.”

“Like a Frisbee?”

“We don't have a Frisbee, coconut brain, so how would we sell one?”

“Oh. What about some rocks?”

She threw up her hands. “Who's going to buy rocks? You might. But you're the only one.”

He nodded, scratching at a mosquito bite on his leg. “We could sell them some drinks.”

“No, but we can ask them to eat at our restaurant. See those foreigners down there? The ones who are scuba diving? Let's tell them about the tuna Father speared today. It's so big, and I bet they just saw some juicy ones swimming around. They're probably hungry for tuna. Let's say they can eat all they want for two hundred baht. If five or six of them come to our restaurant, Mother won't be mad at us.”

“Promise?”

“I promise that she'll be mad if we don't do anything. Is that good enough for you?”

Standing up, he looked at the setting sun. “We'd better hurry.”

“Here,” she replied, extending her hand. “I'll do the talking. You just smile and be friendly. You're good at that.”

He nodded, taking a step toward the shore and then pausing. “Maybe we could find some flowers and some pretty shells. For her tables.”

Suchin turned to him, smiling for the first time since her tank top ripped. “The sand must have fallen out of your head. What a great idea. She's already got all her Christmas lights up. The prettier we can make her restaurant, the better. That way, when the tourists come for the tuna, they won't believe how beautiful things are. They'll be happy, and we'll make a lot of money.”

“And she won't even care about your shirt.”

“There's my little brother. My little scientist. Now tell me, how many gills does a shark have?”

“At least five on each side of its body.”

She squeezed his hand. “I'll talk with the foreigners. You know where the pretty shells are. Find some. And remember those flowers we saw, on the trail to the lookout point?”

“They were blue.”

“Grab enough for each table and I'll meet you back home. We'll give her the shells and the flowers, and we'll let her know about all the people who are coming to our restaurant. Then she'll be happy.”

“And busy.”

Suchin smiled again. “Did you eat some of that seaweed and it made you smarter? Because you're right—she'll be so busy that she won't even think about my ruined shirt.”

Niran mused over where to find the best shells. They were usually on the other side of the island, on a small beach by the pier. Though he needed to hurry, he didn't want to leave Suchin. He was happy to have made her smile. She was better than he was at so many things—at soccer, at English, and in school. He knew more about the ocean. But that was all.

“I'll eat some more seaweed tonight,” he said. “I promise.”

She laughed. “Good. Eat it every day. Gobble it down like ice cream. Now go get those shells and flowers. I'll do the rest.”

Feeling light on his feet, he ran through the shallows, across the beach, toward the opposite side of the island. Soon he'd found his first shell. He thought about his mother as he searched, looking for beauty next to footprints, for treasures that so many people had walked past.

AFTER THE SUN HAD DISAPPEARED, the bungalow felt like some sort of cocoon to Ryan. It was small and primitive, but also warm and comforting. A fan gyrated on the ceiling. A single naked lightbulb illuminated wooden walls and floorboards. A double bed occupied most of the available space, surrounded by a mosquito net that hung off to the side of the fan. The windblown net moved like the surface of the sea, full of restless waves.