Cross Currents

by John Shors

  Lek had beached the longboat with its bow facing the sand. Forcing thoughts of jail away, Patch helped Ryan and Brooke into the vessel, then untied the bow from a nearby coconut tree. He hopped into the boat, moved to its stern, and pulled on a ripcord to start the engine. Without any sort of cover, the engine was loud, but the rhythmic beat of its moving parts was strangely relaxing. Patch untied the stern rope, shifted the engine into reverse, and lowered the spinning propeller into the water.

  Normally Patch wouldn’t have asked Lek for anything, but over the past weekend, Suchin had told him how their anchor had snagged on the bottom during a fishing trip, and when Lek had tried to pull it up, the old rope had snapped. Lek was going to attempt to retrieve the anchor, but Suchin was worried that he might hurt himself. She’d told Patch where to look, imploring him to recover it. And so Patch had asked Lek if he might borrow the longboat, which would allow him to retrieve the anchor, but also to talk privately with Ryan.

  As usual, the turquoise water of the bay was calm, nearly as flat as glass. Patch stood at the stern, holding the steering pole, making sure to stay clear of reefs. Though the water was about twenty feet deep, he could easily see the bottom, which alternated between white sand and darker mounds of coral. Having often seen where Lek and Niran fished, Patch cut the engine and drifted toward the spot. He’d earlier tied a rope to a rock and now, grunting, he lifted the makeshift anchor, dropping it toward a sandy patch of seafloor.

  Though he wanted to fulfill Suchin’s request immediately, he’d promised Ryan that they would talk, and he made his way toward the bow, where Ryan and Brooke sat on the first bench. “Fun, isn’t it?” he asked, moving past them, until he was able to lean against the side of the boat.

  Ryan wondered how anything could be fun to Patch, based on his future prospects. He started to ask the question but realized that doing so would only irritate his younger brother. “It’s beautiful,” he replied, shifting on the wooden plank, watching Brooke remove her sarong. “I can see why you like it here.”

  “I love it here.”

  “Do you want to come back someday?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ryan looked to his right, his eyes following the contours of a massive cliff. “I’d like to come back with you. I really would. But do you understand that if you escaped, you could never come back? That’s if you survived the journey. You’d be a fugitive from the Thai police. And coming back wouldn’t be an option.”

  “I’ve thought . . . about that.”

  “If you turned yourself in and settled your debt, you could come back as often as you wanted. Hell, you could live here. Open a restaurant or something.”

  Patch removed his baseball cap and felt the sun on his face. “If you were me, you’d turn yourself in? You’d seriously do that?”

  “After I’d lined up a bunch of help, yeah, I’d do that. Then I’d get on with my life.”

  “In jail?”

  “After jail.”

  A longboat full of tourists passed, headed in the opposite direction. One of the backpackers waved, and Brooke waved back. “I don’t really know if I should be here for this conversation,” she said, turning back to Patch. “But since I am, I’m wondering what happened in Bangkok. If I understood what happened, it would be easier to think things through.”

  “I was an idiot,” Patch replied, his heartbeat quickening as he recalled the chain of events that had led to his escape. “I tried to take the easy road. And everything . . . blew up in my face.”

  “What easy road?”

  Patch started to respond and then paused. For some reason, he didn’t want Brooke to think less of him, and his story would have that effect. “I feel stupid,” he finally said, putting his cap back on. “Really stupid.”

  “Don’t feel that way. We’ve all done stupid things. Everyone inherited that gene.”

  “Not like I did.”

  “If you’re reticent to talk about it, that’s okay. I understand.”

  He kept his eyes on her face, wishing that she hadn’t removed her sarong. “I smoked . . . some marijuana a few times in Bangkok. In my guesthouse. Everyone was doing it. Everyone wanted it. I thought I could get a big batch and sell off little batches to the other tourists. With the money, I figured I could add another few weeks to my trip.”

  “You could have just asked me,” Ryan said. “I would have wired you the money.”

  “I know.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What happened then?” Brooke asked, glaring at Ryan.

  “Well, this guy who I was buying from turned out to be a cop. He pulled a gun on me, and I just . . . I panicked and knocked it away. And then we were fighting and the gun went off and I punched him and somehow I got out of that room and started running. I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. That’s the last thing I’d ever want. It just happened. All I wanted was to stay longer. I was making friends and having fun and I wanted to stay.”

  Brooke nodded, replaying the scene over in her mind. “Comfort does that.”

  “Does what?”

  “You got too comfortable. With your situation. You got too comfortable and you made a mistake.”

  “I should have known better.”

  The water around them darkened as one of the few clouds in sight obscured the sun. Ryan reached down for a plastic bottle of water and offered it to Brooke. After she drank, he did the same. “I’ve talked with people at the American embassy,” he said. “They told me this kind of stuff happens every day. You’ll pay a fine, do some time, and that will be the end of it.”

  “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “And you do? You know their jobs better than they do?”

  “I hit him, Ry. I hit him and I escaped. Do you understand what that means? He lost face. Big-time. And that’s important over here. Really important. Losing face like that doesn’t happen every day, and if he’d caught me in that alley, he probably would have shot me. And if I’m in jail, he’ll probably pay someone to hurt me. So, yeah, I do know what I’m talking about. I’ve been living with the locals for five months. And some Harvard hotshot sitting in his fancy office in Bangkok doesn’t know squat about that.”

  “Oh, that’s right. He’s a hotshot because he has a degree, because he’s got a great job. That makes him an idiot? What a load of crap. Why don’t you stop talking like you’re seventeen and grow up?”

  Patch looked away from his brother, toward shore. “I’m not going to turn myself in. No way. Anything could happen to me in jail. Anything and everything.”

  “Do you understand that I’m trying to help you? That I flew ten thousand miles to help you?”

  “That doesn’t make you right.”

  Ryan swore, squeezing the wooden plank beneath him, the muscles of his forearms tightening. “We pay a few bribes, we ensure your safety. That’s how it’s done. I’ll get you through this. I’ll—”

  “I agree with Patch,” Brooke said softly, turning toward Ryan. “I think we should get him out of here.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me you just didn’t say that.”

  “I did say it. I am saying it.”

  Ryan squeezed the wooden plank again. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s the right choice.”

  He stood up, rocking the longboat. “You happy now, Patch? Maybe you can get Brooke thrown in jail too. Hell, why don’t the three of us just go in together?”

  Patch held up his hands. “Ry, let’s calm—”

  “Screw you, Patrick,” Ryan said, removing sunglasses. “And thanks for your support, Brooke.”

  “You have my support, and I didn’t mean to blindside you. I just think Patch is right.”

  Ryan took off his shirt. “Well, he’s not. And you blindsided me in the worst possible way.” She started to reach for him, but he shook his head, sat down on the side of the boat, and rolled backward into the sea. He surfaced, treading water.
“I can’t talk about this now.”

  “So you’re going to swim back to shore?” she asked. “You’re going to leave us?”

  “Why not?”

  She turned to Patch. “Is it safe?”

  He nodded. “But, Ry, I don’t want to fight. Why don’t you just—”

  “I don’t want to fight either. That’s why I’m leaving. Because I’m about to blow my top, and I don’t want to do that. No matter how much you piss me off, I don’t want to do that.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  Ryan shook his head, squinting from the sun’s glare. “You know, you’ve always taken the easy way out. Always. That’s why you’re in Thailand. That’s why you’re in trouble. Don’t you understand that we all have to make sacrifices? I’ve made them. Brooke’s made them. So have Mom and Dad. What makes you so freaking special?”

  “I’m not special.”

  “I don’t want you to die. Do you understand that? I don’t want you to try to escape and end up with your throat cut. I came here to save you, not bury you.”

  “You won’t bury me.”

  “It’s time for you to leave Fantasy Island. And it’s time for me to take a swim.”

  “Come on, Ryan. Let’s—”

  “See you later.”

  Brooke watched him turn on his back and kick toward shore. “Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, raising her voice. “I’ll swim with you.”

  Ryan didn’t respond. A brief gust of wind caused the surface of the water to ripple.

  “I’m sorry,” Patch said. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not. This is your first time overseas, to a place like this. And I’m ruining it.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault.”

  “Trust me. It’s not a big deal. We’re good at fighting. We excel at it, actually. So let’s leave it at that.”

  He shook his head, feeling as if he had betrayed her as well as his brother. She sighed and closed her eyes. Suddenly he needed to make her smile, to redeem himself once again. “Let me show you something,” he said, reaching down, picking up a mask and snorkel and handing them to her.

  “What?”

  “Put those on. And hop in the water.”

  “But . . . are you sure he’ll be all right? That’s a long way to swim.”

  “Ryan? He could swim the English Channel. We’re only a hundred yards offshore.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “He could tow this boat back to the mainland.”

  She nodded, taking the mask, putting it over her face. Though she was tempted to ask Patch to start the engine and follow Ryan, she’d seen him in such moods before and knew that he wouldn’t want to talk. He needed space. And so she glanced at the water, remembering how Ryan had left the boat, and she tried to repeat his motions, sitting on the edge of the gunwale and rolling backward, somersaulting underwater. She surfaced smiling, surprised at herself. “What now?”

  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.