Cross Currents (18 page)

Reaching the chair where his shirt lay, Ryan stopped, fell to his knees, and began to do push-ups. Though his legs burned from his long jog, his arms had escaped a workout. The tattoos on his biceps seemed to stretch and surge as his body rose and fell. He counted without conscious effort, wondering what Brooke was doing, if she felt any sort of pain over the thought of losing him.

After doing fifty push-ups, Ryan walked to the water, his muscles tight and throbbing. He washed himself off, put on his shirt, and then headed into the village to buy something to drink. Thais were out and about—uniformed schoolchildren holding hands, shopkeepers cleaning their stalls, workers hammering wood and cutting tile. Ryan walked past a jewelry store and into a shop the size of his bungalow. A middle-aged woman wearing a traditional head scarf greeted him. He'd seen a small mosque somewhere nearby and wished he knew more about Islam.

Walking to the rear of the store, he approached a glass refrigerator and removed a bottle of mineral water. As he neared the counter, he saw soccer balls for sale and remembered the frayed one that Patch's young friends had been kicking around. Picking up a new ball, he felt its weight and headed toward the woman.

“You want drink and ball?” she asked, swiping at a fly that had landed on his arm.

“Please.”

“Four hundred baht.”

Ryan reached into his pocket and handed the woman some colorful bills. “There you go.”

She thanked him in Thai, then picked up a broom.

Stepping outside, Ryan drank the entire bottle of water, dropped it into a trash bin, and started to walk back to his bungalow. The journey took about five minutes. He thought that Patch would be working on the path, but he didn't want to talk with his brother just yet, and so he proceeded along the beach, heading toward the restaurant. The owners' two older children sat at a corner table, the boy shirtless, the girl in a tank top. Ryan wondered why they weren't dressed for school but didn't ask. Instead he walked up to them, holding out the ball.

“For looking after my little brother,” he said, and handed the ball to Suchin, who had risen from her chair.

“This is for us?” she asked. “Really?”

“Patch told me that you play soccer almost every day. Seems like you could use a new ball.”

She tossed the ball into the air, catching it with ease and confidence. “Such a beautiful ball. Thank you, Mr. Ryan. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You can call me Ryan. Or just Ry. That's what Patch calls me.”

Niran stood up and plucked the ball from Suchin's hands. “Thank you, Ry,” he said, bowing slightly. “Thank you for our new ball.”

“You're welcome.”

“Do you want to go kick it with us?”

Ryan glanced toward the kitchen, where he heard women talking. “Don't you have school?”

“Not today,” Suchin replied, and picked up her bowl. “We haven't missed a day all year, so we're taking today off.”

“Really? Not a single day? That's awesome.”

Suchin shrugged. “Well, sometimes Niran's body is at school, but his mind is somewhere else. It kind of moves around like a kitten, chasing butterflies and things. I'm the talker. He's the imaginer.”

“That's true,” Niran said, handing Ryan the ball, then picking up his soup bowl and hurrying into the kitchen.

Suchin followed him. “Just a minute.”

The children disappeared, and Ryan started to sit down, but they almost immediately returned. “Are you a better soccer player than Patch?” Niran asked.

“I don't know. But let's find out.”

Suchin surprised him by clasping his hand. “You and Patch look so much alike. If you lost your muscles, you'd be twins.”

“I'd still be his big brother. Luckily.”

“What did you do when you were little like us? What did you do with Patch?”

“Oh, we played a lot of sports. The two of us against two other kids. Sometimes we snuck into movies together, or we'd ride our bikes downtown.”

“And was it always difficult, being the big brother?”

Ryan glanced at Niran. “I liked having a little brother. I still do.”

Suchin shrugged. “Can I tell you a joke?”

“Sure.”

“What kind of hair do oceans have?”

He thought for a moment as they walked toward the field. “Blue hair?”

“Wavy hair, silly. Wavy hair.”

“You got me.”

Niran kicked the ball onto the field.

“Let's hurry,” Suchin said, still holding Ryan's hand, leading him away from his sense of loss, his regrets, and into a place that was soon filled with her laughter, a place where he remembered what it felt like to be a child, to giggle and run, to jump and be unencumbered by the burdens of maturity.

LEK CRAWLED FROM BENEATH THE foundation of a bungalow he'd been repairing and dusted the sand from his legs and back. The laughter of his children prompted a smile to spread across his youthful face. Suchin and Niran must have finished their chores and were celebrating their rare reprieve from school.

As he wondered where he might find Patch, Lek walked away from the sea, wincing at the pain in his hip. He glanced at the sky, which to his surprise was cloudless. Usually when the ache of his old injury flared up, it meant a storm was approaching. But there were no hints of rain or wind. The day was dominated by the bright sun and tranquil sea.

Hoping that movement would chase away some of his discomfort and stiffness, Lek walked toward the soccer field, soon arriving at what would become a tree house. He saw that Patch had finished building his ladder and had tied it to the trunk. The top rung was slightly higher than several large branches that spread out in different directions. At the base of the tree was an assortment of tools, ropes, and boards. Lek tugged at the ladder, nodded at its strength, and headed toward the half-finished path.

Lek thought about how he would tell Patch that the police were looking for him. He didn't want to alarm the American, or to scare him off, but felt that Patch should probably disappear for a few days. It wasn't normal for any foreigner to stay on Ko Phi Phi for five months. The typical tourist visa for Thailand was for thirty to ninety days, and if tourists fell in love with Ko Phi Phi, they might stay until their visa was about to expire, go to another country, and then return to Thailand with a new visa. What Patch was doing was so out of the ordinary that someone was bound to notice. And that someone might also come across a flyer and tell the police.

Seeing Patch at work on the path, Lek slowed his already tedious pace. Patch was using a group of precut and pale bricks to spell out
Rainbow Resort
in the middle of the path. Lek hadn't asked him to create such a sign and stopped, admiring his friend's work.

“I'll add a rainbow above the words,” Patch said, and wiped sweat from his forehead. “A big rainbow that goes from one side of the path to the other.”

“Where you cut these bricks?”

“I just took some to where they're building that hotel. I asked if I could use one of their saws for an hour. Nobody minded.”

Lek grinned. “Did Sarai see?”

“No, not yet. I haven't been here long.”

“She be so happy. What you make, it so good. Thank you, Patch.”

“You're welcome.”

Lek watched as Patch went back to work, picking up specialized pieces of brick and placing them beside one another as if he were building a puzzle. He moved with care, smoothing out the sand near each brick before fitting its neighbor into place. The letters were longer than Lek's hand, almost perfectly shaped, and he wondered how Patch had cut them so well.

As Lek leaned against a coconut tree and watched Patch work, he felt an unusual contentment wash over him. He and Sarai had looked after tourists for so many years, and the thought of such a person helping his loved ones made him happy. Patch saw something in Lek's family that many foreigners didn't see—beauty and joy and love and so many other wonderful things that filled Lek with pride.

Suddenly Lek didn't want Patch to leave, regardless of the danger created by his continued presence. He didn't want to talk about the police for fear that the American would disappear forever. “Patch?” he asked, moving away from the coconut tree.

“Yeah?”

“Did you see Sarai, on beach, giving massages?”

“She was there an hour ago.”

“She still there. She be there most of day. And so now I go into village, buy some vegetables and fruit for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“The women from Denmark. They pay me to take them to Viking Cave today. Three hundred baht each. But I cannot take them if I go to buy vegetables, and do other things for Sarai. Can you take them? You been there before. You know how to drive longboat. If you take them, I can help Sarai.”

Patch put down a brick. “Sure. I'd be happy to take them.”

“Just do regular Viking Cave tour. Go out, stay thirty minutes, and come back.”

“No problem.”

“You can bring your brother. And his friend. And maybe Suchin and Niran go with you too. They stay home from school today. And I hope they have happy day, special day.”

Standing up, Patch wiped his forehead again. “I'd love to take them. I'll be careful; I promise.”

“I know you be careful. I trust you.” Lek nodded, looking up at the much taller American. “Whatever happen to you, why you maybe in trouble, it not matter to me. What matter is you make my children, my wife, happy. That the big thing. This trouble, it the little thing.”

Patch glanced away, his heartbeat quickening. “Well, to be honest with you, I am . . . in trouble.” He bit his lower lip. “I should have told you about it a long time ago, but I was . . .”

“What?”

“I was afraid that you'd send me away. I'm sorry.”

“What you do? Why you in trouble?”

Patch started to speak, then paused. He rubbed his sweaty brow. “I . . . bought some marijuana from a cop. He pointed a gun at me and I . . . I panicked and punched him. I ran away and I've been hiding here ever since.”

Lek nodded, having guessed that something like that had happened. “Do not worry. I not angry at you.”

“You're not?”

“No. Because you good to my family. That why I not angry.”

“I should leave here. I should—”

“Later. Next month.” Lek debated telling Patch about the flyer the police had put up, but decided not to. Fleeing to another part of Thailand wouldn't help Patch. And more important, the police came to Ko Phi Phi only once every month or two. Patch's short-term presence most likely wouldn't place Lek's family in danger.

“Why not now?” Patch asked. “I think I should leave now.”

Lek shook his head. “You safe here. Next month, when so many tourists go home, you should go home too. But for now, you fine. And you my friend. You also my wife's friend, my children's friend. You . . . like a blessing for us. And I not tell a blessing to leave. Maybe I not very smart, but I not so stupid as to tell a blessing to leave.”

Patch put his hands together and bowed slightly.
“Kob kun krup
.
”

“I don't know what I would have done,” Patch said, “if I hadn't found your family. I wouldn't have made it. So, really, you're the blessings.”

The older man smiled, revealing crooked and crowded teeth. Pride washed through him as he bent down and handed Patch a brick. “Now I must go and buy vegetable.” He shook his head, knowing that Sarai and her mother would laugh later at the sight of him returning with full bags of produce. He hadn't bought such things since he was a boy and his mother sent him off to trade and haggle.

“Good luck,” Patch replied, knowing that Thai women typically did all the shopping, and understanding why Lek continued to shake his head and smile. “I think you'll need it.”

“You funny, Patch. Yes, I need good luck. Sure, sure I do. I need it like women need to talk. You have a good day. Thank you for helping me with Viking Cave.”

“You're welcome.”

Lek walked toward the village, his feet falling on the finished part of Patch's path, his hip still hurting but not as much as before. If rains were coming, they were still distant and untroubling, clouds and squalls that for now had no power to darken the sky.

The path was sound, like a single stone, seemingly as permanent as the cliffs that soared in front of Lek. He took off his sandals so that he might feel the path with his bare feet. The bricks warmed his toes and heels.