Cross Currents (19 page)

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.”

Suchin mumbled to herself in Thai, then hurried off toward Niran. Ryan smiled, watched her berate him, and then caught up with the rest of the group. Patch was trying to describe the origins of the cave, which impressed Ryan with its size and artwork. As Patch talked about pirates using it as a hideout, Ryan imagined sleeping in the cave centuries ago. He would have liked living then, when all that mattered was the number of fish he caught or the strength of a shelter he built.

After spending another fifteen minutes in the cave, everyone returned to the longboat. Patch started the engine and backed the craft away from the dock. Once they were in deeper water, the attractive Danish woman moved to the back of the boat and asked Patch if she could steer. Brooke, who was sitting nearby, pretended not to watch their exchange, but saw Patch step aside so that the woman could grab the pole. The Dane smiled at him, standing closer to him than was necessary.

To her surprise, Brooke found herself wishing that the woman would tire of steering and leave Patch alone. But the Dane didn't leave, and as the swells grew larger, Brooke could only hold on to the gunwale and wish for impossibilities—that Ryan would have let her steer such a boat alone as a large wave approached, that she'd met Patch before his brother, that she didn't have to leave Thailand in a week.

The thought of her departure filled Brooke with unexpected anxiety. Once she left, she and Ryan would break up and she'd likely never see Patch again. He'd never smile at her and step aside, putting his faith in her, his trust.

Brooke wanted to drop everyone else off at the shore and take the longboat out again, just her and Patch. She wanted to hear his voice and know that it was directed only at her. But when the bow touched the beach, Patch shut off the engine, jumped into the waist-deep water, and hurried ahead to secure the craft.

BACK IN THE RESTAURANT, YAI laid Achara on a thick blanket, tickled her thigh, and stood up and started cutting oranges in half. As she worked, her gaze alternated between her granddaughter and the oranges. Achara was trying to roll onto her belly, and Yai encouraged her, telling her how close she was, how nice it would feel to rest her head on her hands. As Achara pushed and struggled, Yai took the sliced oranges and used a stainless-steel press to squeeze the juice out of them. Since oranges were expensive and a luxury, Yai squeezed as hard as possible, working up a sweat, extracting every drop of juice.

When she had finished, Yai poured the juice into two glasses and bent down to pick up Achara. She carried her granddaughter and the glasses toward the beach, moving slowly, shuffling her feet through the sand. “Your mother's working so hard,” she whispered. “And it's time we brought her a treat.” Yai turned her head, pressing her nose against Achara's neck and breathing deeply. “You still smell like a baby, my sweet. Better than flowers or perfume or anything else in the world.”