The Thailand story, part two. I promised this a while ago, and by a while ago I mean maybe I dreamed it, I don't remember. It ends suddenly, and that is because I stopped writing. Hemingway always said to stop while you were still inspired, so that it starts easily again. He better not have been lying...
She knew when he came in last night. She had heard him come in, smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey, and it infuriated her but she lay still, pretending to sleep, fuming while breathing steadily. She half hoped he would try to wake her up so she could ignore him. He didn't though, he just crawled into bed and started snoring almost immediately. This morning was no different, and she pretended to be asleep long after the sunlight began drifting over her face through the crack in the curtains. She heard him get up, shower, and get dressed. Then she felt him sit down on the bed and move her hair out of her face and then she didn't hear anything for a while and finally he left.
He came back several hours later and woke her up with some more of the pastries he had brought the other day. When she got up, he noticed the ring on her finger, and asked her where she had gotten it. “Oh, from the market,” she said, a little pleased with herself. He said that he was glad she went out, but she shouldn’t go alone, not at night. “It was fine,” she said. “These people are so friendly, and I just went across the street.” She was annoyed at how protective he was, and pleased that he was irritated that she went out. He didn’t say anything then. “What do you know about the Golden Triangle?” she asked, and he told her that it was a giant market, like this one, but because it was on the border of Burma, Laos, and Thailand, it was much, much bigger. “How far away is it?” she asked. He said that she probably wouldn’t like it if she didn’t like this, but “how far away is it, actually?” she asked, becoming more irritated that he had said she probably wouldn’t like it. He said that it was probably a two hour bus trip from Chiang Mai. “Could we go, do you think?” she asked. He said he would find out.
The van taking them to the Golden Triangle appeared the next day in the alley behind the hotel and she was impressed with how Jeremy seemed so capable of handling everything, but it wasn’t anything she expressed to him. The little van was comfortable and the driver was friendly enough and they rode out of Chiang Mai and into the jungle. Several times she caught glimpses of elephants moving slowly through the foliage and Jeremy would point them out. He said they could probably go for an elephant ride if she wanted to, but she only shrugged and stared out the window.
They rode in silence, and she felt him looking at her as she stared out the window. They stopped a couple of times to use the awkward squatting toilets at the rest stops, and sometimes by armed guards as they got farther up north. They were waved past once the guards carrying AK-47's saw that they were white. She enjoyed that, deep down, and the giant Buddha statues that sat proudly atop the hills, staring across the thick green valleys filled with rice paddies. She fell asleep with her head against the window.
She woke with a start as the van pulled to a stop. Jeremy said he had been talking with the driver, and they needed to get some fuel here. There was a market nearby that he recommended, and only warned them that there were pickpockets that they should watch out for, children that infested the market looking for tourists who kept their wallets within easy reach. They would beg from the tourists, and then when the tourists pulled the money out, they would know where they kept it and follow them and steal from them. Very crafty, said the driver. They said they would be careful, before stepping out into the damp, hot sun and making their way across the street. The people who saw them smiled and pointed, and she waved back at them.
The market was under a large tent, and it housed a large variety of booths, mostly food. There were pig heads and fresh fruits and candy, and it smelled like spices and meat from all of the vendors who were cooking. Jeremy got them some Pad Thai from one of them, a squat old man who had a flat face, and who piled their plates high, with glass bottles of Pepsi which had PEPSI written on one side, and the odd-looking Thai equivalent printed on the other side. He opened the cold bottles for them, and Jeremy explained that it was sort of like the milkman system in America several decades ago. The vendors were visited by the soda merchant, who exchanged their empty glass bottles for full ones every day, so they had to return them when they were done. She only ate a quarter of the food, and then they kept moving through the market.
They were on their way back when they saw the child, a small, gaunt boy wearing a t-shirt that was far too large for him, and a pair of loose shorts. When he saw them, he approached them cautiously, and held out a baseball cap. She smiled at him
