by John Shors
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.”
“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.
He began to whistle, stepping from brick to brick, feeling blessed and buoyant and free of the many worries that so often assailed him.
AN HOUR LATER, PATCH STOOD at the stern of Lek’s longboat and guided the craft into deep water. Near the bow sat the three Danish women, their long hair streaming behind them. They chatted excitedly in their native language, gazing at their surroundings, taking pictures, and laughing. Niran and Suchin sat on the next plank. Holding the soccer ball that Ryan had bought, Suchin joked with her little brother, who leaned over the gunwale and let his hand rise and fall into the clear water. Closest to Patch were Ryan and Brooke. His brother wore sunglasses, his iPod, and a swimsuit, but nothing else. He held on to his seat, listening to Janis Joplin, nodding to the cadence of her voice. Whenever a swell approached and the longboat lurched up and over the wave, Ryan’s muscles tightened. Brooke had wrapped a new, indigo sarong around her legs. A white bikini top covered her breasts, which moved as the boat moved, rising and falling as swells sent the boat lurching from top to bottom, from side to side.
This far out the water was rough, but Patch knew the longboat was capable of handling much stronger seas. The boat was heavy and stout, and at least thirty feet from bow to stern. As long as he headed into the swells there was almost no chance of anything going wrong.
A longboat passed going in the opposite direction, and the Thai driver waved at Patch, who returned the greeting. For a moment he worried that he had made himself too visible to the island’s inhabitants, that surely hiding away in a bungalow somewhere would be a safer course of action. But he had learned that the Thais were an extremely accepting people who didn’t seem to care what others did. Patch had seen several “ladyboys” on Ko Phi Phi—young men who’d undergone sex changes and now looked like beautiful women. The Thais appeared to treat ladyboys the same as they did everyone else, greeting them with smiles. And Patch often reassured himself that if the Thais didn’t care what ladyboys did, they probably didn’t care what he did.
The island that contained Viking Cave was a fifteen-minute ride from Ko Phi Phi, and as they approached a stark, almost vertical rise of limestone cliffs, the sea began to quiet. Patch eased back on the throttle, wondering why Ryan and Brooke hadn’t exchanged a single word. The awkwardness between them was as tangible as the worn wood beneath Patch’s feet. He felt responsible for their unsmiling faces and leaned down to touch Ryan’s shoulder. “Want to be captain?” he asked, his voice rising above the rumblings of the engine as he gestured toward the steering pole.
Ryan pulled out his earpieces, glanced at the steering pole, and shook his head. “No, but thanks.”
Shrugging, Patch turned to Brooke. “How about you? It’s easy.”
“Really?”
“All you have to do is push this pole from side to side. Here, I’ll show you.”
Holding on to the gunwale, Brooke stood up and stepped over the bench she’d been sitting on. She moved beside Patch and gripped the pole, feeling how the boat responded to her touch. If she pushed the pole to the right, the bow of the boat swung to the right.
“We need to head over there,” Patch said, and pointed to the far end of the island.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to let go now. Just head straight into the waves.”
“Wait. I’m not—”
Patch grinned, releasing his grip on the pole. To maintain his balance, he grabbed onto one of the steel rods that supported the small canvas roof. He remained standing, watching Brooke’s face express doubt and anxiety, which, after a few minutes, changed into confidence and pleasure. She didn’t take her eyes off the waves, her lips widening into a smile.
A large swell approached, and Brooke thought Patch might reach for the pole, but though his hand was near, he let her steer the boat into the wave. The bow rose and fell, casting up spray. The Danish women whooped excitedly, as did Suchin and Niran. Brooke’s heart seemed to tumble as the stern was lifted and dropped by the swell. She had never driven a boat and found the act of doing so empowering. It was as if she sat in the saddle of some great stallion and was riding forward, faster and stronger than she had ever done.
As Patch reduced their speed, she wondered why he hadn’t grabbed the pole when the large swell had come. With two children on board, even though they wore life jackets, he must have had faith in her. And although she’d never shown him any sort of strength, he believed in her, a conviction that even she didn’t always share. She wanted to ask him what he saw in her, and to ask herself why she was happy that he was standing beside her. But she didn’t give voice to either question. Instead she followed his directions and swung the boat inland, toward a gaping chasm in the cliffs that was known as Viking Cave.
A dock made from hundreds, if not thousands, of bamboo poles ran from the base of the cave out into the sea. Patch finally put his hand on the steering rod and then further reduced the throttle. Brooke thanked him, releasing her grip on the wood and staring ahead. The cave, cut into the stained gray-and-black limestone, was maybe twenty feet tall and a hundred feet wide. Long bamboo poles stretched from the rocks beneath the cave’s entrance up the jagged limestone cliffs above. The ends of some poles were tied together and reached forty or fifty feet high.
Patch pointed toward the tallest poles. “The Thais use them to collect birds’ eggs for soup. That’s where Lek fell and hurt his hip.”
Brooke looked at the children, surprised that they’d want to come to a place where their father had been seriously injured. But as she thought about Lek, she realized that he was often smiling, that even though he limped and moved slowly, his spirits seemed high. Maybe his children didn’t realize he was often in pain. Maybe he kept it from them so that his wound wouldn’t become theirs.
As soon as a man on the dock had secured the longboat, Suchin and Niran pulled off their life jackets and climbed onto the bamboo platform. The Danish women were next, followed by Brooke and Ryan. Patch handed the man some coins, then followed his group toward the interior of the cave, stepping from wood to rock. The cave was much bigger than it looked on the outside, and, in fact, it could have easily contained a sprawling, two-story house. Stalactites hung from the limestone ceiling. Bamboo poles reached toward crevices. And on the far wall were paintings of ancient sailing ships. These vessels had curved bows and sterns, as well as several masts and angular sails. Some ships were smaller, featuring a single mast, as well as about ten long oars that jutted from each side.
Patch had read a little about the cave and pointed to a ship that sprouted oars. “It’s probably a Chinese or an Arab ship from a few hundred years ago,” he said, feeling obligated to act as a tour guide for the Danish women, who had paid for
the trip. “But it looks like a Viking longboat, and that’s how the cave got its name.”
One of the women, who had long blond hair and a soft, pleasing face, took a picture and then turned to him. “Were they traders? What did they want?”
“I . . . I’m not exactly sure, but I think—”
“He doesn’t know,” Suchin interrupted. She smiled, still holding the soccer ball. “He’s trying to make you happy. He tries to make everyone happy. But he doesn’t know.”
Patch opened his mouth, started to speak, and then pretended to kick Suchin’s backside. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
The woman who had asked the question laughed. “Maybe he wants a nice tip.”
“A huge tip,” Patch replied, taking another swipe at Suchin.
She leaped back. “Don’t give him one.” She giggled as he moved toward her, and ran behind Ryan. “Your big strong brother will protect me.”
“That’s right,” Ryan said. “So stay back. Don’t make me pin you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Patch scowled at Suchin, then led the Danish women to another part of the cave, pointing out a drawing of an elephant. Suchin stayed behind Ryan’s back, watching a bird as it flew in small circles near the ceiling. She was about to approach the elephant when she saw Niran start to climb a bamboo pole in the corner of the cave. After yelling at him in Thai to get down, she tugged on Ryan’s hand. “Why are little brothers so difficult? He wants to climb that pole for what? To find an egg? He wouldn’t know what to do with an egg if it fell down and landed on his nose.”
“Little brothers are like that,” Ryan replied. “And they don’t change. So you’d better get used to it.”
“I’d rather get used to having nine toes. Why me? Why must I always watch over him?”
“Because that’s what big sisters do.”
“Maybe I’ll crack him over the head with that pole.”
“You’d better. It looks like he’s about to climb another one.”
