Colin Cotterill - Grandad, Thereэ's head on the beach

"Should I get buckets?" she asked.

I laughed and she smiled. It wasn't inconceivable that one day our entire resort would become Atlantis and they'd make TV documentaries about us. But today all I could think of was Grandad Jah unblocking the U bend on a toilet that was now deep beneath the surf. Like I said, the monsoons had a sense of humor.

We had lunch that day crammed around the bamboo table on the veranda of my cabin. I hadn't had a chance to tell anyone my findings about the Noys. Noy genius had embedded herself beside Arny. I had no idea what chemistry would draw a future Nobel prize scientist to a man who shaved his buttocks. She was so in love with him I didn't have the heart to mention that my brother's fiancee would be back from Hong Kong the next day. I really didn't want to tell her that Kanchana Aromdee, three times national bodybuilding champion, could easily rip Noy's skinny arms out of their sockets. And I didn't want to point out that Arny was not flirting with Noy in the least. Didn' t even understand the concept. He was just being his sweet, honest self. But, in fact, I knew I'd have to point all this out because Noy, alias Thanawan, had enough problems already and the last thing she needed was a broken heart. I'd wait for an appropriate moment.

"What do you intend to do about your toilet block?" Mamanoy asked.

"I was thinking we might issue snorkels and goggles to customers asking to use the bathroom," I said.

"I must say you're all taking this remarkably calmly," she said.

"You know where your cheeks are, but that doesn't stop you biting the inside of your mouth from time to time," said Mair, looking out to sea.

We all nodded. None of us had any idea what that meant, but our guests had obligingly learned to surf my mother's squalls. They were becoming family. I wanted them to stay. Having found out what had happened in the States, I knew I'd never sleep again if I couldn't make some sense of it. I didn't want to scare them off by asking directly. I needed a ploy to squeeze information out of young Noy drip by drip without her realizing what I was doing.

In order to obtain their trust, I decided to share my Burmese findings with them. Severed head stories aren't always the best accompaniment to a meal, but the Noys appeared to take them all in bon gout. I went on to list the indignities our Burmese neighbors were experiencing day in day out in our land of smiles. Then I even added the myth of the slave ships and the alleged execution of mutineers. By the time my tale was told, all eyes were on me, and only I had a full plate.

"Serves 'em right," said Grandad Jah.

"For what?" I asked.

"Turning against the British," he said.

I was surprised the old man knew the first thing about regional history.

"Stick with the Brits," he went on, "and you've got a royal family at your back. Can't beat royalty for political stability."

I wondered whether to point out that Thailand had entertained no fewer than thirty-nine prime ministers since 1932, seventeen of whom were planted after military coups. But you never won an argument with Grandad, even when you were right.

"The Malays stuck with the Brits," he said. "The Indians. The Australians. And look at all them. Democracy is government by the people. These countries aren't run by halfwits in tin hats bleeding their countries of all their natural resources and treating their citizens like unpaid coolies. If they'd just stuck with the Brits, we wouldn't have any Burmese on Thai soil. Not a one. We'd be sending our laborers over there to build high-rises and roads."

Grandad was a man who generally dribbled words sparingly. On the few occasions he let the floodgates open, you appreciated those dribbly moments that much more.

"That's really sad," said Mair.

"Just pay attention to the lessons learned from history," said Grandad.

"They can't even count," said Mair.

We all paused.

"Who can't count, Mair?" Arny asked.

"The Burmese children," she replied. "And they're so adorable in their little clothes and powdery cheeks. It hadn't occurred to me that they weren't in school. I shall build one.

"Mair, you aren't nearly connected enough for a Nobel prize, and will you stop spending all this money we don't have?" I pleaded. "We can't even afford to clean up the shop or salvage the latrine from beneath the mighty ocean, let alone set up a school."

"It shouldn't cost much," she said, her mind already seeing the smiling faces sitting in the front row, the hands raised, the queue for the pencil sharpener. "We could hire ourselves a little teacher. A Burmese teacher wouldn't cost very much. And we could drive over to Ranong and buy books, and I could teach Thai once a week, or sewing."

And off she went, describing her Burmese school, the Noys smiling and offering suggestions, Grandad Jah grumbling that nobody ever listened to him and collecting the lunch plates, Arny smiling like the little boy whose mother told fantastic stories to three little children with no father. And me, unappreciated, carrying the worries of the world. I reached into my pocket, palmed two antidepressants and washed them down with the last of my Coca-Cola. And to my utter surprise, with my mother sitting to my left yakking on about blackboard paint, a familiar sound emerged from Mair's cabin next door. It was the sound of a headboard clattering against a wooden wall.

"Are you out of your mind?" I asked, and immediately knew it was a silly question. Of course she was.

Grandad Jah and I sat opposite Mair, who was seated on her bed with the monkey sprawled across her lap.

"What in the world possessed you to kidnap a monkey?" asked Grandad.

"She needed me," said Mair.

"She told you that?"

"Not in words."

"Well, that's a relief."

"She told me with this," said Mair. She lifted the animal's left leg and rolled her over. The monkey's back was diced with welts, some quite fresh. Her hair was patchy, and there were sores everywhere. Ari, the monkey handler, used to bring her once a month to collect coconuts from our trees. The first time they'd arrived I'd been relatively amused by the animal's skill. But from then on, it was just a monkey on a rope and I can't say I paid much attention. I'd go to the truck when it was all over, count the nuts, and take our share of the profits. It looked like only Mair had taken any notice of the monkey.

"Mair," I said, "we had seven policemen here, and you had a kidnapped monkey in your room."

"I didn't kidnap her. I rescued her. And why should the police search my room? We were the victims, weren't we?"

"Why didn't you tell us?" I asked.

"I didn't think you'd let me keep her in the room. But I was sure it couldn't have been much of a secret. She was causing such a fuss. You certainly heard the noise."

"Yes, but I thought it was…"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What are you planning to do with it?" asked Grandad.

"There's a gibbon rehabilitation project in Phuket," she said. "I was thinking of sending her over there."

Grandad Jah stood, cracked a few bones, and walked over to get a closer look at the monkey, who bared her teeth at him. Mair monkey-whispered and the animal melted back onto her lap. I imagined her doing the same to me when I was a snarling two-year-old.

"One," said Grandad, "this isn't a gibbon. It's a macaque. And two, Phuket's six hours away. You going to put it on the bus?"

"I haven't been in a hurry to think it through, Father," she said. "She still hasn't recovered, and I'm not going to send her anywhere till she's better. Now stop picking on me."

I left my mother and grandfather to it. There really was nothing I could do. We had a monkey. And I secretly cursed that monkey for stimulating my libido under false pretenses. But an incontrovertible process had begun that first headboard-clattering night and now I had an itch to scratch. There was only one man in Maprao who came even vaguely close to my "type." I'd been married for three years to a man who wasn't my "type" at all. I'd dated a platoon of men who weren't my "type." And I'd arrived at the conclusion that perhaps my "type" and my "realistic options" were so far removed I might have to compromise.