accomplice. These killings will raise all the old questions again, and someone—finally—will have to take the blame. The question is, who.
For Arthit, one fact is inescapable. Thanom
knows
Anna will tell him about all this. The talk about respecting Arthit, about Arthit’s
ethics
, isn’t worth the breath Thanom used to pronounce the words. Ethics are the last thing Thanom’s interested in. So what’s he really up to?
He touches the back of Anna’s hand and forces yet another smile, in a day of forced smiles. “If you’re not going to eat, I need you to do something. I want you to leave by yourself. Go left on the sidewalk and don’t look around. Go two blocks down to the little
soi
that’s got all the pharmacies on it.”
She nods.
“Take the
soi
all the way to the boulevard and then flag a cab. Go to the house, go anywhere you want. I’ll see you tonight at home.”
Her eyelids drop for a second, and when they come back up, her eyes are an open door, completely unguarded. She says, out loud, “Home.”
The word on her lips blindsides him, and he hears what he just said. Part of him wants to push his chair back and run from the restaurant, leave her there with her life and her ruined career and the son she never gets to see, and part of him wants to put his arms around her and tell her everything will be fine, although “fine” feels miles and miles away.
He can’t hold the smile, so he brings up his hand and brushes the backs of his fingers over her cheeks, then he nods, a tiny nod, less than an inch, that means something enormous. She puts her hand on his and presses it to her cheek. For a moment, that’s all there is.
After she’s left, Arthit follows his watch’s second-hand around the slow circle of a minute and then tracks it another thirty seconds for safety’s sake. Then he gets up, his back still stiff, and picks up the white plastic bags of food.
He sees no one obvious on the sidewalk, so he picks up his pace, a man in a hurry, and when he gets to the little
soi
with the pharmacies on it, he drops a bag of noodles.
Crouching on the pavement to pick up the food as people sidestep him, he sees Anna, almost all the way to the next block, and ten meters behind her, measuring his stride to hers, her follower.
Thanom
, he thinks.
Children
, he thinks.
13
Door Number Two
R AFFERTY SAYS, IN Thai, “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Then don’t say anything,” Rose says, in English. Two hours have passed since she returned from her mysterious errand. They’re on the living room couch, a litter of takeout boxes and paper plates on the table. It’s been dark for almost an hour, and Bangkok glitters like costume jewelry through the glass door. Rafferty loves to sit with Rose and watch the night slide in.
Music, muted and tinny, floats in from Miaow’s room, the door to which is closed and guarded, in Rafferty’s imagination, by a pair of fire-breathing dragons.
“Mrs. Shin said they were almost two hours late for school.”
“I’ll ask her about it,” Rose says, from the center of a cloud of remote serenity that puzzles and irritates him at the same time. She smells like limes, the result of having scrubbed the backs of her hands with them. She thinks it lightens her skin. Since they sat down, she’s been gazing through the glass door at the city as though this evening it’s assembling itself differently than usual.
“Andrew, Andrew,
Andrew
,” Rafferty says, the words pushed out of him by a surge of irritation.
“They got to school, didn’t they?” Rose says. “That should make you happy. When she starts not going to school at all,
that’s
the time to worry.”
“I don’t know,” Rafferty says. A wave of moroseness makeshim slump until he’s sitting on his spine. “What do I know about girls?”
“Everything that matters,” she says, patting his hand comfortingly.
“I knew this had to happen eventually. I mean, in theory.”
“Nothing is
For Arthit, one fact is inescapable. Thanom
knows
Anna will tell him about all this. The talk about respecting Arthit, about Arthit’s
ethics
, isn’t worth the breath Thanom used to pronounce the words. Ethics are the last thing Thanom’s interested in. So what’s he really up to?
He touches the back of Anna’s hand and forces yet another smile, in a day of forced smiles. “If you’re not going to eat, I need you to do something. I want you to leave by yourself. Go left on the sidewalk and don’t look around. Go two blocks down to the little
soi
that’s got all the pharmacies on it.”
She nods.
“Take the
soi
all the way to the boulevard and then flag a cab. Go to the house, go anywhere you want. I’ll see you tonight at home.”
Her eyelids drop for a second, and when they come back up, her eyes are an open door, completely unguarded. She says, out loud, “Home.”
The word on her lips blindsides him, and he hears what he just said. Part of him wants to push his chair back and run from the restaurant, leave her there with her life and her ruined career and the son she never gets to see, and part of him wants to put his arms around her and tell her everything will be fine, although “fine” feels miles and miles away.
He can’t hold the smile, so he brings up his hand and brushes the backs of his fingers over her cheeks, then he nods, a tiny nod, less than an inch, that means something enormous. She puts her hand on his and presses it to her cheek. For a moment, that’s all there is.
After she’s left, Arthit follows his watch’s second-hand around the slow circle of a minute and then tracks it another thirty seconds for safety’s sake. Then he gets up, his back still stiff, and picks up the white plastic bags of food.
He sees no one obvious on the sidewalk, so he picks up his pace, a man in a hurry, and when he gets to the little
soi
with the pharmacies on it, he drops a bag of noodles.
Crouching on the pavement to pick up the food as people sidestep him, he sees Anna, almost all the way to the next block, and ten meters behind her, measuring his stride to hers, her follower.
Thanom
, he thinks.
Children
, he thinks.
13
Door Number Two
R AFFERTY SAYS, IN Thai, “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Then don’t say anything,” Rose says, in English. Two hours have passed since she returned from her mysterious errand. They’re on the living room couch, a litter of takeout boxes and paper plates on the table. It’s been dark for almost an hour, and Bangkok glitters like costume jewelry through the glass door. Rafferty loves to sit with Rose and watch the night slide in.
Music, muted and tinny, floats in from Miaow’s room, the door to which is closed and guarded, in Rafferty’s imagination, by a pair of fire-breathing dragons.
“Mrs. Shin said they were almost two hours late for school.”
“I’ll ask her about it,” Rose says, from the center of a cloud of remote serenity that puzzles and irritates him at the same time. She smells like limes, the result of having scrubbed the backs of her hands with them. She thinks it lightens her skin. Since they sat down, she’s been gazing through the glass door at the city as though this evening it’s assembling itself differently than usual.
“Andrew, Andrew,
Andrew
,” Rafferty says, the words pushed out of him by a surge of irritation.
“They got to school, didn’t they?” Rose says. “That should make you happy. When she starts not going to school at all,
that’s
the time to worry.”
“I don’t know,” Rafferty says. A wave of moroseness makeshim slump until he’s sitting on his spine. “What do I know about girls?”
“Everything that matters,” she says, patting his hand comfortingly.
“I knew this had to happen eventually. I mean, in theory.”
“Nothing is
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