Nowhere Girl (8 page)

24

Even after Kiet drives away and his car fades to a dull rainy speck, I keep my eyes fixed on that distant nothing. This is only partly because of Kiet. The main reason is that I can't think what to say to the brooding stranger standing beside me.

But a minute later, Chaluay turns and begins to walk away fast, heading toward the line of motorbikes. “
Pai
,” she calls over her shoulder, as though just now deciding that I should come with her. “I would have finished work in another hour anyway. I might as well leave now.”

I shift my sack to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder and scramble after her. By the time I catch up, she has spoken to some of the other drivers, all of whom are looking at me curiously.

“Here's a helmet,” Chaluay says, and tosses me a hard round hat, which I've seen the other riders put on before they drive away. But Isra wore no such thing on her bicycle rides.

My helmet is yellow and has a pull-down plastic window on the front. Chaluay slides a black one over her own head and tucks her hair down inside her collar.

“Thank you.” I copy her movements, and feel like I am putting my head inside a tiny car. It doesn't make me feel safer, though. She climbs on her bike and I turn my body sideways to sit on the back, as I saw the young woman do a few minutes ago, but Chaluay stops me.

“You should straddle the seat. You are wearing shorts and the rain will make the roads slippery.” She pulls out a small smile. “It is safer that way.”

At the front of the line of bikes, a man in a crumpled suit is climbing on behind another driver. The man's legs are splayed out to each side. He clings to his driver's waist, but even so he nearly falls back onto the pavement as the
motosai
skids off onto the main road. I nod; this was how I rode on Isra's bicycle. Only without the rain, or the screeching traffic, or the dark helmet swallowing my entire head.

Riding on Chaluay's bike will definitely take some learning. If Kiet were the one driving, I might ask about speeds and corners and what is the safest way to hold on. But this is not Kiet, and I am uncomfortable enough as it is.

When Chaluay kicks her engine to life, I don't make a sound. But my hands, in their death grip on her waist, are screaming. I see right away how this ride is going to be: all rumble and roar and clouds of choking black smoke.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe slowly in and out.

If I had not seen the other drivers, I would think that Chaluay is trying to frighten me. Instead, I realize that she is probably being especially careful. But I do not want to see that vehicle I can feel whizzing by my knee. I pull my legs in closer and bite down hard on my bottom lip.

I have to get used to this. It is just another way of the world, this new world that I am now a part of. All I need to do is sit on this
motosai
and not open my mouth. It is just like being on Isra's bicycle, only faster. And louder. And far crazier.

All right, it is nothing like Isra's ride, but I
must
put up with it.

If I want to be a real part of this real world, I have to make myself take these steps, no matter how terrified I am.

Slowly, I open my eyes.

And in spite of myself, I gasp. The world around me is black, flecked with spots of bright color that flash by like stars in my own personal universe. We are going faster than the rain, and it swooshes around me like a wide, wet sheet. Without the darkness of my closed eyes to tear the movements into random jerks, I see a pattern to our travel. A turn here, a sharp corner there.

We are going so fast that all my worries, all my fears and indecisions are torn away behind me.

And then a realization rolls over me, like a rush of madness, and I let out one loud whoop of delight: I
do
love this moment, this ride, this rain, this dark—this whole crazy world I have been thrust into.

It terrifies me, but oh, how I love the living of it!

25

Chaluay lives in one of those high-rise slap-together buildings that you always see in the news pieces about the Bangkok slums. We climb eight flights of stairs and she throws open her door with as much pride as if she's showing me the local
wat
. It's no temple, but the size of it takes my breath away—I could fit five of my old cots, end to end, along the far wall! All this living space for one person? The apartment is one big room, with a cooking area to the side and a door on the far end that must lead to a bathroom. Plastic wrappers dot the floor, lending splashes of color to the dull gray linoleum. I am starting to appreciate Chaluay's taste already. Then my eyes find the couch, which lies half-buried in rumpled clothes. My mouth gapes open. At a quick glance I can see three or four pairs of jeans, and the bright colors of at least six shirts and dresses. What could Chaluay possibly do with all those clothes? I consider this rough-edged girl, not many years older than me, with renewed respect. Everything in this apartment belongs to her. Even the sour air must smell sweet to Chaluay, because it is home and it is all her own.

It is a staggering thought. Surely no
wat
could be more precious than this.

Chaluay throws her helmet on the floor and peels off her wet jacket. She kicks aside some of the clothes and rolls out a lumpy sleeping mat for me while I go into the bathroom to change. In the tiny room alone, I hold Yai's sarong to my cheek and smile, grateful that I can take off my wet, muddy clothes. I wash them out in the sink and hang them to dry. Unlike Chaluay, I will need to use them again tomorrow. I may not have nearly as much, but every item I own is a treasure.

Our evening passes slowly, uncomfortably. Chaluay is nothing like Kiet. She will help me because she was asked to, but she obviously finds no joy in it. I am a duty she will tend to, nothing more. We eat some instant noodles and I am glad when we turn out the lights and I lay down on my mat.

In the dark, I tuck my arms behind my head and study what I can see of the ceiling. Chaluay's breathing slows to a measured tread, and I think of Mama. I remember a long-ago night when I was still very young, a night like so many others. The guards had settled down for the late watch, Bibi was snoring on her bunk, and Jeanne too was finding her peace in dreams. I was on my cot, listening until the time was right.

There was a certain magic moment, when the quiet was just perfect—a breath, a snore, a sigh from outside the bars. Then I crawled out of bed and slipped in next to Mama. She was curled up tight in the blanket, trying to hold her warmth against the damp night air. But she saw me come and flipped down the edge of her covers, scooted over to make room.

I made myself into a ball and slid into the space her body made for me. We lay side by side, breathing in the quiet. Then Mama whispered, “You have to go to sleep, baby. You know the tooth fairy won't come until you're asleep.”

My tooth had gone under the pillow earlier that night, but this was not my first lost tooth. I knew who was really the one leaving a treat for me to find in the morning. Still, I liked to play along.

“How can the tooth fairy find us in here?” I asked. The words tickled the empty space at the front of my mouth and I giggled.

“She will find us; she always does,” said Mama. And then her voice got very quiet and faraway. “But nobody else will. We are safe here, and that's what matters.”

The tremor in her voice made me wriggle closer and reach back to pull her hand over my shoulder like a shawl. I
was
safe, and warm, and happy. And in the morning there would be a wrapped candy under my pillow, and Isra had promised to take me to the market on the weekend.

I had everything I wanted in the world.

I slept.

26

The next morning when I come out of the washroom dressed in my clean—though still-damp—clothes, Chaluay greets me with a tentative smile.

“I must apologize for yesterday. I behaved poorly. I …” She seems to be searching for reasons but not finding them, so I cut her off quickly.

“No, I am the one who needs to apologize for arriving without warning. You are very kind to let me stay with you.”

Chaluay waves that away. Her smile is real, I think, though her mouth is still stretched a little tight. She is obviously trying very hard to be friendly. “Kiet said you were born up-country and have lived there your whole life.”

I had wondered what Kiet told her about my past. But something in the way she says this—curious but not alarmed, interested but not desperate to know—tells me that he said nothing about Khon Mueang Women's Prison. Did he guess at my wish to start anew? I smile. I really
can
be anybody I want to, now.

I will tell Chaluay nothing more than I must.

“Yes, up-country,” I say. “North of Chiang Mai.”

“And your parents?” she prompts.

“My mother has recently died. I am now returning to America to … be with my father. And other relatives.” I am once again surprised at how normal these careful slivers of fact make me sound.

Chaluay never even blinks. She moves right on to the next subject. “This cannot be your first time in Bangkok!” When I nod that it is, she claps her hands together. “Today, I do not need to start my shift until after midday. Would you like to go downtown? There is so much for you to see—Bangkok is the greatest city in the world!”

Her enthusiasm is contagious. For the first time I feel I might find a friend in this strange, moody girl. “Yes,” I say. “I would like that very much.”

Chaluay studies me approvingly. “You are not like other
farang
. If I was not looking at you, if I only heard you speak, I would think you were Thai.”

A cold fist clenches in my stomach. My familiarity with the Thai language could easily bring up questions that I have no wish to answer. I need to move away from that subject as quickly as possible. “Well, I have done much traveling,” I say, letting the eager smile slide off my face, trying to sound cool and world-weary. “But I feel a special connection with the Thai culture. I spent my whole life and … I studied here.”

Chaluay shrugs, and that familiar scowl seems to flutter back between her brows. “Good for you. It must be nice to be able to travel so much.” She gives herself a little shake, and her smile is back. “But never to have seen Bangkok! We must lose no time.”

I stifle a sigh of relief as we move away from that shaky ground, and I follow Chaluay down the stairs. We step out the front door of her building, into the soft morning drizzle, and climb onto her bike, which she has left chained outside. Chaluay revs up the motor and we are off.

How much there is to see! The wind roars outside my helmet, but my mind replays over and over the majestic symphony music that Kiet chose for my entry into this magnificent City of Angels. All around me, everything is so big, so bright, so busy! The colors of my childhood were gray and dull brown, with the only bright splashes found in the green trees and the deep blue sky. Occasional festivals and market days were explosions of color that fed my soul for weeks.

But here—this whole city is a rainbow. Bright electric lights flash on the sides of buildings, even now that it's daytime. Shops are lined with colorful awnings, and women strut by dressed in hot pink and orange and yellow. In the public gardens and near tall fancy buildings, there are flowers—real, living flowers, with delicate purple and white petals. And the
wats
! Temples so tall and ornate that I feel holy just looking at their doors.

I could stop on every corner and stare for hours, but Chaluay keeps up a speedy pace, zipping down one street and on to the next. Cars are packed in tightly everywhere, but she slips in and around them with effortless skill so that, like a bird in flight, we never need to stop moving. Meanwhile she talks to me over her shoulder—keeps up a steady stream of friendly banter, introducing and explaining and advertising all in one. She is a wonder.

I crane my neck and try to understand the Skytrain, something I have not learned about in my encyclopedias. This train does not run on or below the ground, but on a track built high in the air, on special columns dotted across the city. We tour the wide green gardens of Dusit Park, view the temple grounds of the Wat Saket, and finally, as the sun rises higher in the dripping sky, we park the motorbike and climb more than three hundred steps to the top of the Golden Mount. Chaluay tells me with some pride, as though it was partly her doing, that until fifty years ago this was the highest spot in Bangkok. Now, of course, there are skyscrapers and many other structures taller than this.

But I look down from this height and am awed. The view is like nothing I have seen before—in fact, it
is
nothing I have seen before. To be this far above the ground—imagine! The city stretches out below me like a jeweled carpet, every rooftop a precious stone. I feel like the queen of a magnificent city.

“And this is just one city,” I whisper. The idea feels strange to me, but for the first time I start to understand how truly big the world is. For one crazy moment I'm so filled with emotion that I want to grab Chaluay in a giant hug, the way I would Mama as a child. But I know I can't do that. I sneak a glance at Chaluay, who is also looking out over the city, and caution myself again to control my show of feelings. Play the part, I tell myself. Be normal.

“So, you are going to America soon.” Chaluay's voice drags my thoughts back into focus.

“Yes,” I whisper, though this is something I have been loath to think about. “Soon.”

“You have family there?”

“Yes.” That much has to be true, though I know of none of them except my grandmother. But Chaluay is waiting for more details. I try to think of what else I can add without being entirely untruthful. “Yes, many relatives. They are all … businessmen. They are very anxious to see me after so long.” I cringe at how awkward my newborn story sounds. But I now see that Chaluay, staring off in the distance, seems to be lost in thoughts of her own.

“You will fly there, I suppose?” she says. My mouth drops open in confusion and she quickly adds, “On an airplane?”

I blush and nod. Of course. To cover my embarrassment I pat my bag. “My mother left me the money to travel. Soon I will need to go downtown to find out about airplanes that go to the United States.”

Her eyes flick briefly to my bag and she shrugs. “I will show you something very special next,” she says. “You cannot visit Bangkok without seeing the great river, Mae Nam Chao Phraya.”

“River?” I echo. I know all about large bodies of water, of course. I've learned the names of the oceans and can recite the chemical composition of lake water. But none of those were ever real to me. They were blue blobs on an atlas page, nothing more. The tub in the bathing room back on the inside, that's the only pool of water I know. That was a busy room, full of noise and confusion. But the water itself was shallow and contained, a place to wash and clean and sometimes even play. The thought of being near running water as deep and dark and wide as my worst fears makes me feel like a child again, needing to curl up in my mother's arms. I can hardly imagine, in this moment, a thing I fear more.

I twist the strap on my wristwatch. “What time does your shift begin?” It is past eleven already.

Chaluay looks at her own watch and frowns. “It is later than I thought. The rain is getting harder, too. Well, let's get something to eat. You said you have things to do in town?”

I nod, and she turns to head back down the stairs. “That will take care of today. The river will just have to wait.”

She smiles, but there is something crooked about it, like it has been sewn on and the stitching is starting to come ever so slightly loose. I put all the warmth I can into my own return smile. There was a seed of friendship trying to come out, I know there was. I hope Chaluay will give it a chance to grow.

I also hope that our time will be so full that she'll forget all about wanting to take me to the river.