I give her five hundred baht and she wraps up my carving inside a plastic bag. Then she opens a small beaded purse strung around her neck and fishes for change.
‘No change,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
She pauses, looks at me quizzically for a nanosecond, then bows curtly, pressing her hands together.
As we walk away, Eli shakes his head at me. ‘You’re a softie. But if you buy things just because you feel sorry for people, you’ll be broke in half an hour.’
‘Yes, big brother.’
He scowls at me, but sometimes Eli is too hard-headed for my liking.
The uneven footpath narrows between clothing stalls as we manoeuvre around them, backpacks feeling heavier by the minute. Swept along on an invisible conveyor belt of heat, I start to feel small, squashed, vulnerable. I pull my over-the-shoulder bag closer to my side.
As I brush against the next clothing stall, a thin wiry arm protrudes from a rack, hooks itself in the crook of my elbow, and pulls me through a curtain of t-shirts, to the quiet beyond.
A young girl smiles at me. ‘You want hat?’ she says, leading me to a pile of surf-brand caps. ‘You look.’ She points at the table before her. It’s much the same as the many tables of clothing and hats I’ve passed already. ‘Where you from?’ she asks.
‘Uh, Australia.’ I flick idly through the hats, not finding anything I want.
‘Australia. Sydney?’ she says, hopefully.
I hesitate. ‘Yes.’
‘Ah yes, Sydney. Kangaroo.’ She curls her hands up before her chest in imitation.
‘Yes,’ I answer weakly.
I turn for the entrance to the stall, but she links my arm and lifts a chunk of my hair, examining it in the light. ‘Your hair, so pretty. I do your hair.’
‘I’ll come back later,’ I say. Eli has no idea where I’ve gone and my heart is beating frantically. If I lose him … but she’s already started plaiting, fingers working in a frenzy.
I pull away.
A male voice breaks through from the front of the stall. A distinctly Australian voice.
‘Eli!’ I call.
I’m not even sure it’s him. There’s a bustle and a bunch of t-shirts clatter to the floor. I yank my hair out of the girl’s grasp.
‘Bel, what the hell? You were behind me, and then you were just …’ He looks quizzically at the lone plait in my hair, narrows his eyes.
‘How much?’ he says to the girl.
‘Five hundred baht,’ she says.
Eli shakes his head. ‘You didn’t finish.’ He lifts my hair as evidence. ‘I’ll give you fifty baht.’ He unzips his bag, counts out some notes before taking my hand and leading me back to the street.
‘Talk about giving me a heart attack.’ He’s still holding my hand.
‘That girl just hooked me in. Literally hooked me.’
He doesn’t appear to hear me. And his grip is firm on my hand. ‘I’m responsible for you,’ he says. ‘You gotta stay with me, right? From now on, just shake your head, okay? Avoid eye contact. Once you start talking, they’ve got you. And keep hold of my hand. We’re not stopping till we reach the hotel.’
I do as I’m told. Pull down my sunnies and hold onto his warm hand. Let him guide me. Press my lips together to stop them quivering, and wonder how on earth I’m going to cope with a Thai prison if I can’t even walk the damn streets without feeling violated.
Finally Eli pushes open the dark timber door to the hotel and we step into a wall of icy air. As it shuts, the tooting of horns is silenced, leaving us in a vast marble reception amongst exotic carvings of tigers and the faint aroma of jasmine rice. Away from the hustle of the street, this space is a sanctum. Eli talks to the receptionist and comes back to me with another lady, dangling a card from his wrist.
The lady walks silently down a cool corridor, and we trail behind her. She takes us up a few floors in a lift, before getting out and stopping at a dark timber door to our right. She presses her hands together in a small bow and leaves.
Eli swipes the card and pushes into our shared room. The walls are decorated with timber panels, stark against the shiny marble floor. We dump our bags and flop simultaneously onto the crisp white sheets of our single beds.
‘Wow,’ Eli says, looking around at the ornate carvings in our room. ‘This is slightly different to the school dorms I stayed in last time. Your old man didn’t hold back, did he?’
‘All in the name of keeping us safe,’ I say. ‘Let’s check out the balcony.’
We’re like kids playing house. Travelling to Thailand and living together for the next ten days. The idea is thrilling and weird and wonderful. We slide open the balcony door and step out into the heat. I catch Eli’s eye and he suddenly laughs.
‘This is crazy,’ he says. ‘Sixteen hours door to door. We made it.’
I laugh too, and then I remember what I haven’t done yet.
Eli deserves the truth.
I wake in the afternoon. Our hotel room is icy cold, so I slide open the door to our balcony and step into the thick, tobacco-tinged heat.
Eli’s still deeply asleep inside, but all I’ve done the last two hours is toss between dreams. I cast my eye over Bangkok. An afternoon storm has swept the streets clean of rubbish and the roads gleam under the dull hue of the setting sun. Somewhere out there, over the patchwork of crumbling rooftops, under this same patch of hazy Thai sky, is Micah. So close – within my reach. What will he think when his name is called for a visitor tomorrow?
Tomorrow. My breath catches in my throat.
When Eli wakes, fresh and un-jetlagged, I’ll spill it all. I brace myself against the balcony railing and close my eyes. God, let it go down well.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’
I startle.
‘Woah,’ Eli holds out his hands in mock surrender.
‘Sorry.’ But I can’t return his smile. I take a deep breath. Courage, wherefore art thou?
‘What’s up?’ His face is suddenly serious.
‘There’s something I need to tell you – should have told you,’ I say. ‘About Bangkok.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I need you not to freak on me, okay?’
‘Okay …’ There’s an edge to his voice now.
I rest my weight against the handrail. ‘So, a few months ago I started writing to someone in Bangkok.’
‘Writing?’
‘Yeah, letters. For a Legal Studies assignment.’
‘Okay …’ He grips the balcony rail. ‘Letters to who?’
‘Have you ever heard of the Foreign Support Network?’
I skip the word Prisoner.
‘What is it, like some kind of charity?’
‘Yes,’ I say quickly. ‘Exactly. That’s exactly what it is.’
He shakes his head and his hair flops across one eye. ‘Why would I freak about that? You’re weird sometimes, you know that, Bel?’ He flashes his perfect teeth at me as he smiles. ‘You’re weird and I’m starved.’ He turns back towards the open door. ‘Let’s head downtown for some –’
‘Have you ever heard of Bang Kwang Prison?’ I say quietly.
He stops with his back still to me. Turns around. ‘You mean Big Tiger? The prison that eats men alive?’ He raises his eyebrows.
‘Yep. That one.’
‘Ah … yeah, I’ve heard of it. Trust me, that’s one tourist destination you can skip. Wait … why?’
‘See the letters I’ve been writing, they’re to a prisoner. And I’ve kind of promised him a visit, like, tomorrow.’
Eli’s quiet for what feels like an hour, his face unreadable.
‘Sorry, just give me a minute.’ He massages his temples. ‘You’ve been writing to a prisoner.’ His voice is calculatingly slow. ‘You said … him, right? Tell me that’s not why …’ He shakes his head. ‘Is that why you wanted to come to Thailand?’
‘It’s only one of the reasons.’ But the conviction escapes me. I can’t even look at him.
‘So whe
n you said you wanted to see Bangkok … you really meant you wanted to see this guy in prison?’
‘Eli, I wanted to come with you –’
‘But you didn’t tell me till now.’ A small laugh escapes his lips but there’s no joy in it. He hangs his head. ‘I get it. I’m the chauffeur.’
‘No,’ I say, reaching for him. ‘It’s not like that, Eli. I’m not using you.’
He holds up his hands and steps backwards into our room like he doesn’t want me to touch him ever again. All the air goes out of me. I feel sick with my own betrayal. With my own selfishness.
‘Eli, please let me explain. I’ll tell you everything –’
‘No, it’s fine, Bel. I get it.’
‘It’s not fine. I wanted to see Thailand with you, Eli.’
‘Forget it. You don’t need to explain.’ He retreats another couple of steps.
‘I should have told you earlier.’
‘You never trust me with your secrets. Shit, Bel, half the time I wonder if I even know you anymore.’
That one wounds deep enough to slice through my stomach.
‘You know me.’
‘Why then?’ He looks at me briefly, and his eyes flash a challenge I haven’t seen before. ‘Why hide this from me? Why spring it on me now?’
My throat grows tight, but I refuse to cry. It helps if you’re not a crier. Tash cries all the time, but it’s a pastime I’ve never indulged in. And it’s sure as hell not going to happen on day one of our Thai trip.
‘Forget it. I’m getting some food,’ he says.
He slams the room door with such force that it feels like it hits me. I grab my phone off the charger and start texting.
Eli, I’m sorry.
No response.
This prison trip. It’s something I need to do.
A couple of hours pass before a message pops up on my phone.
So what did this guy do? Or is he ‘innocent’?
Relief washes over me. He’s communicating.
Not innocent. He’s on Death Row, but I don’t know what he did.
Brilliant.
A one word answer from Eli.
I should have trusted you, I write.
Damn straight.
I didn’t think you’d come if you knew.
There’s a pause before his message comes back.
Exactly how many times have I said no to you? Then another text flashes up. You need to do this, why? Is this connected to your mum?
My stomach twists painfully. It has nothing to do with her.
Okay. Does jailbird have a name then?
His name’s Micah.
Just writing it lifts my mood.
Micah what?
Rawlinson. Why?
Are you sure this guy is who he says he is?
I frown at my screen.
I trust him.
You trust a Death Row prisoner. Good stuff.
I know him.
What year was he done?
The year before last.
Nothing else comes up for a while. Then I get another message.
Well, if we’re going to the prison, I’ll need details.
I sigh.
Uhh … you don’t have to come.
It was never my intention for Eli to chaperon me into the prison.
Funny. You think I’ll let you go alone?
Ah, yes.
I should add that I want to go alone, to be with Micah on my own. But there’s no way I can say it. I’ve hurt Eli enough without telling him that.
Well, you might have forgotten who your old man is, but I haven’t. I value my life.
It suddenly occurs to me that Eli might text Dad. See if he knows about my prison plans. Technically, he does, but if he hears I’ve been writing to a prisoner and that I won’t let Eli come along …
Eli, you don’t have to play babysitter. I’ll get a cab to the prison. Dad already knows I’m visiting a prison.
He doesn’t respond. But even if he insists on coming, at least he’s talking to me. And hopefully not phoning my father right now. Dad would fly over here to collect me himself if he got wind of this.
I return to my messages. First there’s Tash with, Hello from Down Under, followed by Dad with, Annabelle touch base, despite the fact that I already texted him on landing and when we arrived at our hotel. His letting-me-go rules were that I keep my phone with me at all times and Eli and I sleep in separate beds.
The condensation from my water bottle makes a puddle on the table as I answer Dad’s final question. Then the phone buzzes in my hand, and Eli’s name hijacks my screen.
You need to see this.
Eli’s breathing fast when I pull open the door to our room.
‘You googled him, right?’ he says, pulling out a chair at the wooden table and opening up his iPad. ‘You’re not stupid … right?’
Eli raises his eyebrows and the look on his face makes me shiver.
‘Are you serious?’ he says. ‘You haven’t?’
My stomach turns to ice. This is the moment of truth for Micah. For me. Something I could have found out a long time ago if I’d had the guts to.
I edge down on the chair beside Eli. I’ve never seen him so serious.
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘It’s drugs, isn’t it?’ My voice is small.
‘Crack. The guy tried to smuggle five kilos of it out of Thailand. He’s a drug mule, Bel.’
‘What?’
‘Crack. Five kilos. Taped to his body. Trafficking drugs into Australia. Which part didn’t you hear?’
‘Eli,’ I whisper.
I need him to be gentle with me. Why can’t he understand that?
‘Were you hoping he got death for being drunk and disorderly?’ Eli’s voice is softer now. Probably because my face is ghastly white. ‘You said you trusted this guy.’
The room shrinks and swells with my breathing. I close my eyes, willing it to stop. It’s like Tash said. There’s nothing romantic about Micah’s story.
‘You really didn’t know, did you? All you had to do was google him.’ Eli flicks his hair out of his eyes, adjusts his glasses and studies me. ‘You okay? You want me to go on?’
I swallow, but my mouth is dry.
Eli has no idea how entangled I am. How the pain is crushing me up inside. How I need air.
He turns the screen towards me.
A boy is half turned from the camera, a hand up to his face. Squinting in the flash of camera light. With a shock, I recognise him.
I want to see a drug mule. An excuse to call this whole visit off. But all I see is how confused Micah looks. And scared. And in his expression, I see myself. Me, as a young kid with a camera in my face. Flash, flash, flash.
The difference is, the cameras were in my face because my mother was murdered by a crack addict. They were in Micah’s face because he was fuelling crack habits. Eli starts to say more, but then he scans further down the screen. He swipes to the bottom of the article. ‘It says here customs got an anonymous tip-off about him. He was a goner before he’d even hit security.’
‘I don’t get it,’ I say numbly.
Eli sighs. ‘Okay, do you know how drug dealers get mules across borders?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, there are different ways, but Micah was having one hell of a shitty day. See they strapped him up, which is one of the riskiest ways to begin with. But they would have had a dozen or so guys doing the same thing. Then when he was in transit to Bangkok airport, the dealer put in a call to customs. An anonymous tip-off.’
I stare at Eli for a moment.
‘Why would they want to do that?’ I say, sceptically. ‘Lose their own drugs?’
‘To create a distraction. Eleven get through, one gets caught. You’ve played chess before?’
I frown up at him. ‘You know I have.’
‘Then you’d know sometimes you have to sacrifice a pawn to save your Queen.’
I feel sick at the thoug
ht of it. Remembering the debt Micah had to pay. Is this how he paid it?
‘You’re saying he was set up.’
‘I’m saying he trafficked drugs. Hard-core drugs. And, yeah, someone probably set him up. Who even is this guy to you? How long have you been writing to him, or whatever?’
‘A few months.’
‘You don’t have, like, feelings for him or anything, do you?’ He looks away when he says it.
‘Course not.’ My voice is strangled.
‘Do you know how awful it’s going to be? Visiting him?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not going. Not anymore.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t. It was drugs. If it was anything else … I should have listened to Tash. She said it was drugs right from the start.’
‘Would you rather it was murder?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’
We’re silent for a moment. I’m not sure of anything anymore.
Then Eli’s voice softens and he says, ‘If you came all this way to see him and you told him you were coming, you’ll probably regret it if you don’t.’ He tips his head back and lets out a long sigh. ‘Look, this is madness, Bel, but I don’t want to be responsible for you having regrets. Let me come with you. We’ll go in, meet the guy, come out. Then it’s done.’
I look at him, uncertain.
‘Who knows when you’ll be back here?’ he says. ‘You don’t want to leave with regrets.’
I rest my head on Eli’s shoulder.
‘And if he’s a dickhead, we’ll up and leave. Together, okay? We’re in this thing together.’
The taxi is long gone, leaving Eli and me dwarfed by the towering white-concrete walls of Bang Kwang Central Prison. A square watch tower protrudes above the walls and the rolls of barbed wire that adorn them. Face to face with this foreboding place, my heart is punching through my throat.
It’s not just because I’m at the prison.
It’s because I’m meeting Micah. Micah, who was a drug mule.
With Eli beside me.
How will I react when I see Micah? What will I say to him? Eli will hear every word.
Coming here suddenly feels like a bad idea. It’s too soon to process what I learnt last night. I try to separate my Micah in the letters from the drug mule in the news.
Inside the Tiger Page 12
