“Yes, many buses. Cars in Bangkok very expensive. So we have many buses.”
Several went by before Chai grabbed Bucky’s arm. “This one.”
The American boy gasped. The overloaded vehicle was absolutely jammed with humanity. A mass of bodies filled the aisles and spilled out onto the loading steps at the rear of the bus.
“We’ll never get on,” Benny declared.
“No.” Even Chai could see it was hopeless. “Wait for next bus.”
Bucky had to laugh. “I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.”
Idly he glanced down the street as they waited. Huge neon signs everywhere flickered in intricate designs. Glowing lights chased each other around the border of a billboard advertising Budweiser. Across the street a huge theater marquee featured forty-foot movie characters from a film he recognized as a hit in the U.S. three months earlier.
“Now we go!” Chai whistled to him. “Another bus!”
Bucky turned quickly as the diesel bus lurched to a stop. “Still too full!” he complained.
“No, this one good.” Chai pushed Benny ahead of him and turned to make sure Bucky was right behind.
“Hurry!”
Wedging his way through the pile of bodies standing in the doorway, Benny clambered on. Chai grabbed the handrail and pulled himself on board.
Just as Bucky climbed onto the first step, something sharp hit him right in the forehead. With an involuntary gasp, he stepped back for a moment, dazed. A tall Thai youth, in a hurry to get aboard, rubbed his elbow nonchalantly and muttered something to the ticket girl.
“Wait!” Bucky lunged for the door railing, but the painful blow had left him reeling. With grinding gears the overloaded bus began to pull away from the curb.
“I’m not on!” Despite the pain, Bucky began to run toward the receding lights, but a sea of humanity blocked his path. Pushing through a knot of four giggling students, he dashed toward the back of the bus that was rapidly picking up speed.
A feeling of terror seized him. The usual mass of traffic had temporarily let up, and the city bus with Benny and Chai on board was now turning the corner at the intersection well down the street.
His head pounded. What should I do? For an irrational moment he still considered running after the bus, hoping to catch it in the next street at a traffic signal. Should I . . ?
Desperate now, he actually began to sprint down the sidewalk. But he had only gone thirty yards when he realized the hopelessness of the situation. The sidewalk was thick with pedestrians blocking his way.
Real fear seized him as he slowly returned to the bus stop. He studied the sign on the front of a second bus now pulling to a stop at the curb. Was it the same line? Staring at the foreign letters, he grimaced.
“Why didn’t I ask Chai what number bus it was?” he muttered to himself in frustrated rage.
Screwing up his courage, he paused next to a young man. “Does this bus go to the Christian hospital?”
The student turned to his friend with a shrug, then laughed.
“I’m lost.” Bucky tried to slow down his racing pulse. “Do you speak English?”
The second student cackled. “Hello, Joe.”
“You do?”
Another laugh. “No, Joe.”
A second bus swung into loading position right behind the first one. Again Bucky sized it up, realizing with fresh despair how alike they all looked.
At last he realized the truth. The best thing to do was wait, hoping that Chai and Benny, recognizing that he was missing, would return to the bus stop.
Pacing back and forth, he watched as the minute hand slowly slipped around the face of his watch. Ten minutes . . . fifteen . . . twenty. “Come on!” Now almost trembling with fear, he muttered in frustration to himself, “Where are you guys?”
A full half hour went by before he finally gave up watching the throng of faces in the crowd in the vain hope that he would see his two friends. Slamming his fist into his open palm from frustration, he went over to a low wall surrounding a movie theater and sat down.
Almost involuntarily he began to pray. “Lord,” he began, “I know you know where I am. Please . . . help me to think how I should get back to the hospital.”
Opening his eyes, he almost expected to see the hospital bus pull up with Gordon and his seventeen friends. The garish neon lights blinked out their beer promotions as the city traffic rushed by in all directions.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to the curb once again. Scanning the oncoming traffic carefully, he raised his hand timidly and beckoned as an empty taxi approached.
The Thai driver screeched to a halt near the young student and stubbed out a cigarette. Bucky cleared his throat. “Can you take me to the Christian hospital?” He spoke slowly, hoping the driver would recognize the words.
The man stared at him blankly. “Christian hospital.” Bucky repeated the phrase, trying to emphasize what he wanted with a gesture, and worrying as he did so that there might be more than one such medical center in such a large city.
“Mai roo.”
“Hospital . . . hospital.” He tried to think of some kind of pantomime that would convey the idea.
“You want where?” A voice at his side interrupted.
Bucky turned. A tall man had been watching.
“You speak English?”
“A little bit.”
Bucky sighed in relief. “I need the Mission Hospital.”
A puzzled expression crossed the man’s face. “Hospital. Which one?”
“Mission.” Bucky paused. “Christian hospital. By the railroad tracks.”
The man seemed to comprehend. Bending down he jabbered some words in Thai. Bucky strained to hear, trying to catch any familiar phrases.
The driver nodded and responded. The man straightened up. “He says 150 baht.”
Bucky winced. The amount was nearly all he had in his wallet. He remembered Benny’s successful bargaining the week earlier.
“Ask him . . . if 120 is OK.”
The helpful stranger spoke again in Thai, then briefly shook his head. “One-fifty.”
Nodding reluctantly, Bucky climbed into the back seat. “Thank you.”
“Yes, OK.” The Thai man waved.
His pounding pulse rate began to slow as the taxi eased through the Saturday night traffic. The driver hummed to himself as a raucous Thai pop tune rattled in the car’s tinny speakers.
Bucky stared out the window, hoping to see anything familiar that would indicate they were heading in the right direction. Something in the back of his mind indicated that the hospital was off to the left, but he was certainly too disoriented to rely on that instinct. Still, he fretted to himself when the small taxi turned right at a huge circle intersection and headed down a street filled with bars and nightclubs.
“Lord, let this be right,” he muttered to himself over and over as they rolled through intersection after intersection. In the neon - sprayed late evening nothing looked even remotely familiar.
At last the taxi slowed to a stop. A large stucco building was nearly dark. The sign above the entrance was in Thai. Gulping down his fear, Bucky poked his head out the window to scan the place.
“This isn’t it,” he said, shaking his head. Squinting, he made out the English lettering underneath. “Chonburi Dental Clinic.”
“No,” he protested to the driver. “Christian hospital. Big.” He gestured with his hands.
The driver pointed out the window at the clinic, responding with a confident statement that Bucky couldn’t understand.
“No, this isn’t it.” His mind raced. “Christian hospital.”
The driver shook his head blankly, then shrugged.
“Christian hospital. Big.” Bucky gestured. “This little. Not right.”
Again the man shook his head, this time more forcefully. He repeated the same expression.
“This isn’t right!” An edge crept into Bucky’s voice. “Christian ho
spital.”
The man reached behind him and unlatched the passenger door, allowing it to swing open.
“Wait! You didn’t take me to the right place!” Bucky brought both hands down hard on the back of the driver’s seat. “This isn’t it!”
The man shrugged again, then held out his hand, gesturing for payment.
Shaking with anger, Bucky counted out the bills and handed them over. The slim twenty-baht bill remaining reminded him just how desperate he now was.
Muttering what sounded to Bucky like an epithet, the taxi driver revved up his motor and squealed out into traffic, leaving his passenger standing on the corner in front of a dental clinic that had been closed for hours.
Chapter Ten: Cocktail Waitress
Bucky stood on the curb as the taxi melted into a distant blur of taillights. A tightening knot in his stomach felt the size of one of Coach Brayshaw’s basketballs. With a dull stab of pain he realized how far away he was from home.
He glanced around him at the faces of strangers. Surrounded by people and traffic and noise, he still felt desperately, terrifyingly alone. Alone in Bangkok.
Trying to keep his hands from shaking, he walked over to the dental clinic and tried the front knob. Locked. Through the glass door he could see dim lights, but there appeared to be no one there to help.
Sitting down on the steps, he pulled out his wallet and examined its contents, knowing already that he had less than one dollar to his name. Twenty baht. Not enough for another taxi ride or even a single meal.
His mind raced. Should I have waited at that bus stop? What if Chai and Benny are going back there right now with Gordon? Anger and fear began to gnaw at him. How could I have been so stupid? When you’re lost, stay put! Even Rachel Marie knows that!
He racked his brain. What was the name of the boxing stadium? Could he go to the police? How did one say the name of the Christian hospital in Thai? In his mind he could hear Benny boastfully pronouncing the foreign words . . . something starting with “r.” He strained to remember.
With a weary sigh, he stood up and began to aimlessly walk down the darkened street. Stores, bolted tight with mesh iron gates, lined the roadway. A mangy dog crossed in front of him, growling as he shied away from it.
“God, please . . .” Almost too tired to pray, he whispered the words over and over.
A car loaded with teenagers slowed down as it passed him. “Hey! Falang!” The mocking laughter rang in his ears as he trudged toward the intersection.
Two blocks down he spotted what looked like a more public area. Bright lights and restaurant signs flickered with the faint promise of help. The pink glow of American neon beckoned.
At the traffic light he paused. A set of railroad tracks sliced across the intersection. The red - and - white pole was just descending as a clanging bell announced the arrival of a train.
Bucky watched as the passenger cars slowly lumbered past. More irrational thoughts flooded his fatigued mind. Would this train go right by the hospital? Should he hop on? He shook the idea away, waiting for the bar to lift before crossing over to the crowded street on the other side.
Restaurant signs and nightclub marquees twinkled as he slowly walked down the street. “GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!” a sign promised. Inside he could hear the heavy beat of an American pop tune. The familiar words pounded in his brain, reminding him again how far away America and Hampton Beach were. Halfway down the street he suddenly paused. The numbing fatigue of the last two hours had abruptly drained the last ounces of energy out of him. Sagging against the nearest wall, he glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight.
“God, I don’t know what to do.” It was more of a groan than a prayer.
He glanced across the street where a huge scarlet sign announced DANCES & DRINKS. Pushing himself away from the wall, he picked his way across the crowded street and walked into the darkened bar.
The nightclub was half-filled with customers watching three girls dance on a small stage. Scarcely noticing, Bucky made his way over to a distant corner of the room and sank down into a chair. The pulsating rhythm of the rock music seemed to drag strength out of him with every beat.
“What do you want?”
He jerked his head up. A smiling Thai waitress in a short miniskirt stood before him, pad poised.
“I . . . I can’t . . .” His voice trailed away.
“You want drink?”
Bucky shook his head. “You speak English?”
“Yes, a little bit.”
He wet his lips. “I’m lost. I was with some friends and then they got on a bus . . . and I couldn’t get on . . . and now I don’t know how to get home.” The words tumbled out in a confused rush.
She cocked her head. “You don’t want drink? Martini? Beer?”
“No!” Grimacing in frustration, he repeated himself. “I’m lost. Please! Can you help me get home?”
The pencil dangled over the pad for just a moment, then dropped. She gave a demure shrug. “You wait.”
Another rock song boomed through the huge speakers right over Bucky’s head as the crowd began to sway to the beat. He pressed his hands against his forehead, trying to stop the throbbing pain that was beginning to build.
“Hello.” The voice jarred him back to attention. “What’s the matter, honey?” A woman in her mid-30s peered at him through her heavy makeup. She looked Asian but spoke with more of a British accent.
“I got lost.” He was too tired to explain further.
“That’s what my girl told me.” The woman slipped into the seat next to him. “Where you from, doll?”
“California.”
“A California man. My favorite.” She leered at him, her heavy eyelids fluttering.
“Please . . .” He swallowed hard. “I got lost. My friends are all at the Christian hospital.”
“The what?”
“Mission Hospital. It’s by some railroad tracks. Real big compound, four-story building.”
“Oh, sure.” She put a manicured hand on his forearm. “I know where that is, honey.”
“You do?” His voice trembled with excitement.
“Sure.” Her laugh was silvery, mysterious. “Come on, have a drink on the house, then I’ll have one of my boys drive you home.”
Tired as he was, Bucky managed a grin of relief. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“No problem, baby.” She motioned to the waitress. “What do you like to drink?”
He was still tingling with relief. “Oh, just . . . 7-Up, I guess.”
The older woman laughed out loud. “7-Up! Well, well. You are a big man, aren’t you?” She slapped him playfully on the arm. “Come on, have a real drink.”
Bucky shook his head. “No, I don’t drink.”
The hostess laughed again. “Well, you came to a strange place for help.” She said something to the waitress in Thai, then slipped out of her chair. “Well, you’re a good-looking California boy so far away from home. Too bad you’re not the party type.” She gave him a mocking glance.
A minute later the waitress returned with a tall glass of icy liquid. “Here you are, baby doll,” the hostess rasped, giving Bucky a wink. “Drink up, then we’ll get you back home to Mommy.” She laughed again.
Bucky gulped gratefully at the cold soda. Home. Safe on the hospital compound in Dr. Geltje’s apartment. Then California. At that moment the twin destinations seemed like heaven to him.
As he glanced down at his nearly empty glass, he thought the familiar soda had a tart flavor to it. Despite his near exhaustion, he felt a momentary sense of anticipation that the hours of fear were at last coming to an end.
The heavily painted hostess eyed him for a moment, then went over to the bar and whispered to a stocky bartender. Bucky drained the last drops of liquid from his glass as he listened to the frantic music. Somehow the tune’s heavy beat had a mushy quality to it. Moosh . . . moosh . . . moosh. The garbled lyrics rumbled in his brain as the scantily-clad dancers gyrated on the st
age.
Glancing at his watch, he squinted in the darkness to see the hands. Suddenly it was an effort to focus. Rubbing at his eyes, he looked up at the stage again. Now there were six dancers there . . . no, it was only three. Or was it? His eyes seemed to be twitching.
“How’re you feeling, honey?” The woman’s voice barely penetrated his drowsiness.
“I . . . I can’t seem to . . .” His tongue was thick. “I’m so . . .”
Through the rose-colored murky darkness he could hear the mocking sound of her laughter as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Chapter Eleven: The Last Try
The hot Bangkok sun beat down on the piles of trash in the alley, bathing the block with the stench of rotting garbage. The acrid smell penetrated Bucky’s sleep and jerked him to a painful consciousness.
“What? . . .”
Coughing violently, he looked at his dingy surroundings. A dog nibbled at some half-eaten fruit that had fallen out of a paper sack. Out on the main street cars and motor scooters whizzed past, their engines a high, piercing whine.
Bucky tried to stagger to his feet, only to have his legs, buckled under him for who knew how long, tingle painfully as the circulation began to flow again.
“Where am I?” He half-spoke the words as he gazed jerkily around the alley. Despite the mid-morning glare, he could barely open his eyelids. Forcing himself to sit back down, he began thinking furiously. The bar, the flirtatious hostess, the drink . . .
The drink! With a start, he remembered the blurred vision, the distant laughter. Despite his pounding headache, he could recall now the slow descent into a drugged sleep.
All at once he remembered a story he’d read in a travel guide. His breath came in angry little gasps as he felt for his wallet. The empty fabric of his back pocket confirmed his suspicion.
“Drugged!” Indignantly he struggled to his feet, his head reeling from the movement. Putting his hands on his knees, he bent over for a moment, allowing the blood flow to ease the dizziness.
“Where am I?” he mumbled to himself. Straining to recover the bits of memory, he pieced the puzzle together. The boxing match . . . missed bus . . . the taxi ride to the dental clinic . . . the walk to the bar.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 50
