Charley Brindley - Sea Of Sorrows

“I’ve been working all night.” I held up the computer for her to see.

“I hope it’s not the same twaddle you were writing last night.” She sat at the table, but I didn’t.

“No, this is mostly drivel and tripe.”

“Should be an improvement. Sit down. You look like you’re about to take a runner.”

“I guess it’s too late for that.”

I took the chair across from her. She waved the waitress over.

“So you’re like a voyeur?” She spoke to the waitress. “Hi, Ringy. Can we have two root beers?”

Ringy smiled and went away for the drinks.

“Why are you nice to her?”

“She used to work the street until she got too old.”

“That will happen to you, too. Probably next week.”

“Funny. Why do you come here?”

“I thought I might find intellectual stimulation, but all I get is boring conversation.”

“Stimulation cost money.”

“But boredom is free?”

“Until I get a paying customer. How about you? Wouldn’t you like to buy some real stimulation?”

I laughed. “Why would I do that?”

“Why does any man?”

“Because they can’t get a date with a real woman.”

“You don’t think I’m a real woman?”

“I think you’re a–”

Ringy brought our root beers and set them on the table. Prija sipped her drink, then raised an eyebrow.

“I think there’s a time for banter,” I said, “and a time to shut up.”

“Why? Last Saturday night I called you an old American bastard.”

“The truth never hurt anyone.”

“Then tell me the truth about me.”

“All right. You’re a beautiful young woman.”

“Blush.”

“And working the street because you can’t make the same amount of money in a store or a factory.”

Her phone vibrated. She looked at the message but didn’t reply to it.

“Why is Siskit happy working in an export office for a fraction of the money you make?”

“Because I won’t let her work here.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for you?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“What are you doing?”

She stood. “Going back to work. You can pay for the drinks.”

I watched her walk away, then I left money for Ringy.

I love it. Just like the old days .

* * * * *

It was a little after two on Saturday night. All the tables at the little café were taken. I walked the opposite side of the street. My computer was in a backpack swung over my shoulder.

Prija wasn’t at her usual spot.

I glanced up and down the street; nothing.

Soon, a fat little man emerged from the doorway across the street. Prija followed him out, adjusting her skirt.

“Saxon.”

She yanked me back from some place far away. “Siskit. So good to see you.”

She leaned toward me for a quick hug.

“You watching Prija?”

“Um, yes, I was.”

“Many nights I stand here, watching. I worry some mean drunk will hurt her.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Oh, yes. So many.”

“Why does she do it?”

Siskit waved. Across the street, Prija bobbed her head.

Is she looking at me?

I felt an urge to wave to her but kept a grip on the strap of my backpack.

Had she seen me earlier, watching?

“She give all money to parents. Father has bad cancer. Mother must sit all time in wheel thing.”

“Oh, no. What type of cancer?”

“Lung.”

“Is he on chemo?”

She looked at me. “What is?”

“Um, chemicals they give by IV.” I made a punching motion with my finger to an arm vein. “Or maybe by pills.”

“Oh, yes. He must have all this. Cost is more of 300,000 baht on each month.”

“Radiation?”

“That he have six month back. Now all hair gone.”

“I’m sorry to hear of this.”

“You must not say even one little word to Prija that I told of this.”

“All right.”

Her phone beeped. She read the text, smiled, and clicked a reply. “You promise not tell?” she asked as she looked up at me.

“I promise. But does she not want anyone to know?”

“I only other person who know.”

“Okay. Thank you. This helps me understand.”

“She come to us now.”

I looked across the street to see Prija stop on the sidewalk, waiting for a motorbike to pass, then walk toward us.

“Oh, no. I have to go. Will you come see me later at that little café?”

“Yes, of course. But why you go?”

“Bye for now.”

I had to get away. My emotions ran wild. I loved the banter with Prija, but I didn’t want her to know that. And her face, so much like the woman locked away in my memory. And now, the revelation that she sold her body to keep her father alive. All this was overloading my simple brain. Like an expanding balloon too big for the inside of my head. Something had to give way.

If I were a drinking man, a stiff shot of whiskey or vodka would do me good. Maybe two shots of each to numb me into oblivion.

I hated what Prija was doing, but I admired her at the same time. Is love so powerful to drive one to self-devastation? If I were in her place, would I do the same? I don’t know if I have the strength of character to perform such a life-altering sacrifice. Her young life being used up for the sake of family.

What would I say to her when next we met? Every verbal jab would be blunted by the image of a woman in a wheelchair at the side of a dying man. Were they aware of what she did to earn the money for them? I doubt it. And what of the drunks and louts who like to hurt women? She put not only her health on the line every night, but her life as well.

I’ve known her for less than a week, and already I’m tangled in her life.

I need to get out of Bangkok, tomorrow. I can write from anywhere. Maybe back to the Amazon. Deep in the rainforest, away from the crush of people. Away from cancer and hookers. There, in jungle silence, no distractions, all I need is a satellite link, a bottle of bug repellant, and I can live out my days in peace.

* * * * *

At 3 a.m. I captured a table and ordered dinner so the waitress wouldn’t ask me to leave. If Siskit joined me, she could share the food.

It wasn’t long before I heard her sweet voice as she came to the table.

What a charming girl she was, and a good sister for Prija.

“I glad you wait for me.”

I waved Ringy over. “What will you have to drink?” I pushed the plate of food toward her. “I ordered dinner for us.”

“Do you have that orange drink fizz?” she asked Ringy in Thai.

“Oh, yes. You may have the large size. And you, sir, orange fizz?”

“Yes, please.”

“I am so hungry,” Siskit said.

We chatted in Thai because it was easier for her. I was pleased it came back to me.

She pushed the plate to me. I took a bite.

“What is your profession?” she asked.

“I’m a doctor and a writer.”

“Really? What kind of stories?”

“All kinds. Adventure, history, romance…”

“Have any of your books been translated into Thai?”

“No, all in English.”

“How many books?”

“Sixteen. Four more in the works.” I took another bite and pushed the plate to her. “Enough about me. Do you like your job at the export company?”

“Yes, I love it, but I want to go back to our village in Pattani Province.”

I stopped chewing and stared at her.

“I miss my family.” She pushed the plate back to me. “What?”

I swallowed, then took a drink. “Pattani Province, in the south?”

“Yes. You know of this place?”

“You are Muslim?”

“Yes, Prija, too. We came from a small village.”

“You don’t cover your hair.”