INTERLUDE

The reader can perhaps share in my frustration and disbelief as I listened to my host come to the end of these last two incredible tales. There I sat, in poised silence, calculating where to focus my first question and trying to read the meaning of the elfish grin that played across his lips as he poured me another drink. It was getting late and most of the other guests had already left for the night. It was only me and one other, a boisterous tattooed Belgian named Timmy, who had mutually toughed out our drunkenness in order to see where our host might lead our imaginations next.

“Mr Thierry, you are a real devil if you expect me to believe these fantastical stories of yours. They are mere Chinese puzzles you've given us without any substantial conclusions whatsoever,” I challenged my host. “They both have a beginning and a middle, but hardly anything one could sufficiently call an end. Do you have the audacity to leave the fates of Josef Jakobson and detective Suvichai in such a state of unanswered suspension?”

My host smiled more widely.

“I can only relate the facts as I know them,” he answered. “Life is very fickle that way—she frequently provides us with the sense of a mystery existing beneath her surface, but rarely with the satisfaction of a mystery solved,” he philosophized as he leaned back in his chair with a certain air of self-satisfaction.

“Do you mean to tell me that the nefarious Zoltán Sárkány has gotten off scot-free? And what about the detective? Can this be the ignoble conclusion to an otherwise illustrious career?”

“You know, from what I have read in the papers since, detective Suvichai is still hard at work and the criminal element must need still fear his name. The baron, however…let's just say that this may be the one that got away. Such is, alas, the unfortunate state of the law in Thailand . Justice is not always brought to pass.”

“Well then, let me just say that there are numerous details that force me to accuse these stories of being pure fabrication. For example, do you expect me to believe that the authorities would allow the baron to parade through the busy streets with an entire battalion of tanks? How might you answer for this outlandish contrivance?”

“When you have lived in Bangkok as long as I have, you are no longer quite so surprised by the occasional presence of tanks in the streets.”

“Fair enough. But what about those bizarre coconuts? What connection could they possibly have with the horrific beheadings? And why would anyone fill them with blood?”

“Let's be reasonable,” my host retorted as he shrugged his shoulders. “If the renowned detective himself could not uncover this mystery, how do you expect me to? I am only relaying the events as I myself have heard them.”

“Hmmm…” was my only response as I resigned myself to his impregnable defenses. We three then sat in silence for a while as our host passed out another round of cigarettes. Timmy, at this point, took advantage of the pause to distract us with a lighthearted joke about a rabbit jacked-up on ecstasy, the punch line of which escapes me and would probably be lost here anyways as it was told to me in French…

And such were the typical hospitality and revelry we had grown accustomed to at these annual get-togethers at Thierry's. For you see, Timmy and I, and all the other guests who had left by now, had come to Bangkok for one reason: Thierry owned a jewelry factory. And we—we had come to attend the Bangkok gem and jewelry tradeshow, to see his and the other suppliers' new designs and, with any luck, to return back to our respective corners of the world with next year's best-sellers. Thierry always made a point of gathering his oldest or most devoted customers together at this time to share a dinner in his secluded backyard, to chat with his lovely wife and enjoy her exquisitely barbecued mussels, to ruse with his little daughter and remark how much she had grown, and to drink heavily and simply forget about the drudgery of work for a short while. It was good to once again see my host's kind and happy face and to remember that, behind the previous year's slush pile of emails, we were, after all, just flesh and blood. I feel that Thierry, for his part, knew that while we visiting buyers could all easily relish on our own the myriad of exotic experiences this faraway city had to offer, we were also privately missing our families and our homes. And these intimate and generous dinners of his, and the wild tales he was always ready to astonish us with, proved a perfect and welcome diversion.

I, of course, wanted to ask about the mysterious black boxes. What is the connection between the two stories? What is the meaning of the strange emblem each bears? And what is the relation with the shadowy organization known as The Hand? Were they its artificer? Or did this sinister cult simply understand how to control the box's hidden powers...? And yet ultimately I thought it foolish to grant my host the victory of my utter consternation and thus decided to restrain my mounting curiosity.

“I guess we will never learn what Josef Jakobson missed at his unattended second appointment then,” I mused regretfully.

“When one comes so close to the serpent, we who remain behind so seldom know the final outcome,” my host replied rather cryptically. “Listen, I can tell that it would be unfair of me to leave you in such an anxious state. I have one final story for the two of you which I hope can offer some form of resolution, something to mull over once we part. For after this, I must call it a night. It is the tale of a woman this time…a love story of sorts. And some of its most tender moments took place not far from here, in a garden not unlike the one we sit in now. And though I cannot promise it won't ultimately leave you wondering still, I believe that it can at least provide some lasting semblance of hope…”

PART THREE: ATI

I

The sunken sun's orange- and purple-streaked twilight reached far overhead into night drawing round the darkening waters. A thin crescent moon hung low there on the glowing western horizon like a limpid eye turned downward. The cool haphazard breeze from across the Andaman Sea crossed the deck of the Lost Pearl , which rocked and creaked in the calm waves, and nudged the vessel ever so gently into the encroaching mouth of the Malacca Strait . It was the time of day that Ati felt most at peace. And as she sat on the bow of her small fishing boat cleaning her ak -47, she thought that if she could somehow see beyond the vast and tranquil veil of this familiar nightscape, she might for just once be able to peer upon the face of Allah. She took another puff of hashish from the long pipe at her side and returned to her methodic labor.

The rest of the six-man crew was on the stern playing dice and drinking. The men were understandably nervous for the coming raid and Ati felt they deserved to let off a little of their anxieties. Distant laughter and song would sometimes break the quiet evening from that end of the ship. Otherwise Ati was left to enjoy the moment's tranquil solitude.

For as long as she could remember, Ati had lived at sea. She was more so a child of the ocean than of anything else. Having been an orphan adopted by an elderly and childless fisher couple (two upright and god-fearing Muslims), from a very early age she had always felt more comfortable on the water than on land. So much of her youth had been spent in the island surf that she could no longer taste the salt of the sea.

Images of childhood still returned to her in dreams…the kind wrinkled face of her mother, her father's cherished prayer rug with its depiction of the Kaaba. Or at times, whenever Ati now looked down upon the calluses her small hands still bore, she recalled pulling the endless ropes aboard the fishing boats, giggling alongside the other children at the myriad of bizarre sea creatures' bulging eyes peeking out from the quivering, burgeoning net. Back then, when her adopted father would tuck her into bed, he liked to tell her how they had found her as a babe washed onto the shores of Sabang in a coconut shell. But she had grown much since and now recognized how grueling and impoverished her upbringing had been. She looked back upon her naïve youth with a bitter mix of embarrassment and resentment. Having grown wholly estranged from both family and community, Ati had long ago stopped believing the sentimental myth about her origins. From time to time though she still secretly savored its idyllic innocence.

Bajak laut—pirate. That is what they called her now. Truth be told, Ati was nothing more than a petty smuggler transporting black-market goods like cigarettes and whiskey back and forth across the strait. She did, however, often lie and tell her crew she had killed a man in the past…she was a convincing little liar. But to date, she hardly merited the title of pirate. Still, she had her ambitions…

The Lost Pearl was currently on course to intercept the Underbelly , a mid-sized American container ship bound for Mumbai. Ati had been told it would be an easy target with a huge payoff: it was rumored to be carrying ten-thousand grams of gold. It was just the break the crew of the Lost Pearl so widely craved. One of their contacts in Singapore had radioed an hour ago to let them know the ship had just left port. Ati's plan was to hug the western coast of Perak, circle back behind the freighter, follow it as it started its turn out of the strait and then, if her computations were correct, overcome and surprise their prey off the tip of Sumatra in the first light of the morning. Ati had gone over the route and the plan for the raid countless times with the crew. If they didn't know their roles by now, well then there just wasn't any hope for them.

Her tight-knit crew was comprised of the five delinquent young men, mere boys really, who had idealized her irascible example ever since the days of their shared youth. They all had something to prove among themselves—such is the way boys behave together. But none ever dared cross Ati, for she wielded an undeniable authority over the lot from the very beginning. Such was her domineering personality, even as a child—to immediately assert her supremacy over anyone she met so that there could be no argument down the road as to who was in charge. Besides, for some years now her crew had all mutually forsaken their lives on Sabang for this outlaw's life and there was an unspoken and desperate pact anymore that bound them closely together.

It was these larcenous but loyal five that manned the Lost Pearl plus Panut, the seasoned old good-for-nothing who had lured Ati from the straight and narrow path way back ago to begin with. But Panut's long-enduring life of sin was beginning to get the better of him, and his drunken irreverent tongue that once charmed Ati had soured lately into a decrepit cynicism that was starting to get under her skin. And Panut inwardly realized that Ati now held all the sway he once enjoyed over this band and the old dog was resigned to merely ingratiating himself among the crew with his infinite wealth of dark course humor. Still, he was well connected throughout the strait, which frequently proved handy—indeed it was Panut's tip-off on the Underbelly that they were banking on now. But in the end, Panut was the one to watch out for…

And so this was Ati's family now. This was the life she had freely chosen. And while she spent her days in constant flight, always chasing after the next and easiest score at hand, there was a pleasing simplicity to it all. There was little use in dreaming about what might be awaiting beyond the immediate horizon. What could there possibly be that she hadn't already realized?

The moon had disappeared below the horizon by now. Night had overcome the sky and the stars were blazing across the heavenly dome in full fierceness. Ati laid her weapon down, put on her top, undid her ponytail and stretched out onto the side of her slender frame, her long black hair pouring over her hand and arm unto the deck. The rhythmic motion of the waves was lulling. She took a long drag from her pipe and blew a thick cloud into the air before her face. The soft breeze grabbed and tore the heavy smoke as it dissipated into the endless blackness.

II

They say that seafarers are more at ease in the world of dreams than those who spend their lives on land. Perhaps this is because they are more accustomed to the subtle shifts and changes that are the nature of the liquid realm. Or perhaps because, at sea, one routinely encounters things never before dreamt of. And while so many of the tales that make it back ashore are unmistakable fiction—mermaids, fishers in the bellies of whales, etc—a large number are incontrovertible truth, no matter how strange they may seem, no matter how much those dubious landlubbers wish to deny them. And thus it is no surprise that these latter skeptics are so much less prepared to believe what they cannot adequately comprehend…such as the stuff that comes to us in dreams.

Ati was a believer. Indeed she made almost no distinction between the world of dreams and the waking world. Why should she believe differently? If we can readily accept that our dreamlands are populated throughout with elements from day's realities, why should we be so reluctant to accept the reverse? Nothing in Ati's experience had ever led her to conclude otherwise.

It was as a girl of nine or ten when Ati first discovered how these two worlds can sometimes blur. She had been playing by herself along a desolate strand of beach, collecting whatever pretty objects the warm tide decided to wash her way, when she thought she heard a boy's voice from afar. Ati, over here. And when she looked in the direction it came from, she saw an immense tiger shell sliding across the sands amid the receding froth. Yes, this way , she heard the hollow voice again and she immediately ran to examine the prize. She raised the magnificent cowry to her ear and listened for several moments, but was disappointed to only hear the usual echo of her own pulse. And then, No, over here . The voice was coming from the waves this time and Ati thought she saw a faint human silhouette behind where the coming wave was cresting. But when it had crashed and flattened there was nothing. Then another wave formed and she saw the shadow again, this time more clearly. Yes, come , the voice spoke, so close now it seemed like it was in Ati's ears, and she slowly yet resolutely waded out into the surf to meet her newfound friend…

Her father eventually found her asleep on the beach that afternoon, the sun beating down upon her sweating brow, the ocean's foam just beginning to tingle around the tips of her toes. She did not mention the voice to him or anyone else.

And from that day forward, whenever Ati was in relative solitude at sea or by the shore, she would often meet her secret companion. Early on she gave him the simple name of Brother . All she had to do was to call his name and, before too long, she would see his shadowy form start to rise from beneath the ever-changing waters. In morning, when she was out fishing, she would frequently peer overboard and watch his rippling silhouette skim along the ocean floor chasing the boat as fast as any fish. Or when she was out splashing among the surf under the hot noonday sun, he would often call out to her, Ati, there is a beautiful turtle swimming just over here . Come evening, it was not uncommon for others to watch the young girl alone on the docks, hanging her head over the end and talking to the waves; the adults simply wrote it off to the child's overly active imagination. And thus the two friends passed countless hours and days playing and talking like this. Never had Ati been so close to another of her peers.

As she grew older, her parents began to question the good of her solitary nature. Was it healthy for a young girl who was already so independent-minded to play alone that much? And when her father confronted her about it, Ati was furious but unable to explain herself. How could he understand her depth of feeling for her special brother? If she told him, her father would only be jealous…or worse, he would call her a liar. And so she angrily defied her parents and continued to spend her days alone along the sea.

But to some degree, it was already too late. The two friends' secret unions had already been tainted by something more profound than her father's affront. Ati herself was feeling increasingly confused about their relationship and wondered just how long their concealed meetings could realistically last. And, as she began to verge on adolescence, she found herself craving an as of yet unexperienced attention that her dreamlike brother could simply never provide.

And so Ati started spending more and more time among the boys of Sabang. It did not take her long to discover how easy it was to win over their adulation, especially for a young woman who was so inherently headstrong and unlike the other girls. Boys are predictable this way. As she and her retinue of pubescent admirers whiled away their teenage years teaching each other how to smoke cigarettes, how to pilfer mangosteens or how to torture turtles with a knife, Ati began to savor an inward pleasure at watching the hearts of the worst of them succumb to her rascally charm. And when she lay on the beach kissing this or the other young ruffian, she would sometimes spot her shadowy friend out in the waters and hear him reproaching her from afar: Ati, you should not stay out so late. Your parents will start to worry . Or when she was out on the docks under the moon getting drunk for the first time with Panut, her brother had quietly warned her from beneath her dangling feet: I do not like this old rogue. He does not intend you any good . And thus over the course of time did the endless playful ruses that once characterized their secret friendship deteriorate exclusively into pestersome admonishments. And deep down this saddened Ati, though she knew she was, and would inevitably continue to be, the chief instigator of this painful growing distance.

And when, as a woman of nineteen, Ati finally sailed away from the shores of Sabang for the last time, she knew that she was willingly leaving behind an irreplaceable piece of herself and her past and wondered if she would ever encounter her abandoned companion once again.

III

Ati broke from her sleep with a start. She could still hear the receding rumble of the thunderclap that woke her as she got to her feet. The night was pitch and almost void of any stars as the wide and menacing arms of an unexpected storm were quickly mounting from the southeast. The strong warm wind carrying the ominous clouds ever closer whistled in Ati's ears and blew her hair back as she peered out onto the black sea. She could feel the electricity in the air tingle through her scalp. Just then a white forked bolt tore the distant southern sky and revealed the silhouetted broadside of a craft bearing north about a kilometer off their port bow. Ati looked back over her shoulder and saw Panut coming onto the foredeck with a pair of binoculars in his hand.

“That's our vessel, Ati. Let's get this thing underway,” old Panut importuned wolfishly. The thunder from the last strike rolled high over the Lost Pearl . The rest of the crew was gathering along the gunwale, taking in the grim seascape, then looking to Ati to try and read her intention.

Ati was taken off guard. This didn't make any sense. Could it possibly be the Underbelly ? How was Panut so sure? This wasn't anywhere near where she expected to intersect the cargo ship and its bearing was all wrong.

“Give me those binoculars and turn off all the lights.” She took the lenses, knelt on the deck, turned to where she last saw the ship and waited. Panut shouted back to have the lights dimmed.

“What time is it, Panut?”

“About three o'clock. That time of night when only breast-feeding mothers and thieves…”

“What's our bearing?”

“South-by-southwest. Just like you told me.”

“Did you get an id and position over the radio?”

“What do you think, Ati? That's our jackpot out there alright. If we move fast, we can be off before they ever know what hit them. Let's not waste any more time just sitting here on our thumbs.”

Ati finally located a faint light, from the ship's bridge presumably. Another strike illuminated the binoculars' field of vision and she could make out a lone figure moving above deck. And then the scene went dim again. A couple seconds more and the thunder boomed loudly.

She didn't know what to do. They were backed up uncomfortably against the coast and their only escape would be directly into the storm if they were to attack now. But she knew the crew was eager and could tell that Panut's impatience was getting them worked up. She didn't want to appear irresolute.

“Bring us behind cautiously. They're running leeward, so it's going to be a tricky chase. I want to make our turn at half a kilometer out. And call me if you get anything else over the radio,” Ati ordered Panut sternly. She didn't need anyone straying from her command and if one of them was going to dare set the dangerous precedent of crossing this line, it was going to be Panut. “Boys, get the equipment out and readied. Otherwise lay low and still,” she shouted back to the crew.

The Lost Pearl was a nimble craft and Panut an experienced helmsman. The skilled old sailor was able to keep them at close reach without letting the Underbelly advance too far off the starboard bow. Their boat churned and pitched obliquely across the swart waves that were growing long and high. Each time they cleared a crest, a spray of seawater doused Ati's cheek. The sky before them crackled with lightening every few minutes.

As they drew closer and closer, Ati agonized internally as to whether she was making the right decision. She got the feeling there was something Panut wasn't telling her. Was she leading her crew into a pitfall? Would she have the mettle to do whatever might be necessary? Her squinting eyes scanned the heaving waters for some sort of sign that simply wasn't forthcoming.

By the time they made their turn, a heavy rain was pounding the deck. They came in much tighter than Ati had wanted and she could see the huge aft of the freighter looming ever larger through the obscuring downpour. Still, they seemed to be as of yet unnoticed. Ati's hair lashed before her face. She turned her head into the wind and waved her arm for the boarding party to ready. From here on out, no one was to speak a word.

The Lost Pearl was dwarfed behind its prey. The grappling hook made a dull clang, muffled by the wind and rain, and caught on the initial throw. Panut was the first to scale. Ati was surprised at the old man's alacrity as she watched him scamper quickly up and over. She saw him wave from far above and four of the other men then promptly followed. Ati was the last to climb, her rifle dangling off her back, the rain stingining her eyes.

As far as they could see, the Underbelly 's decks were empty. It looked as if the crew was in for the night. Two of Ati's men were to keep guard at the stern while two others would await her and Panut's signal, then trail behind and patrol either side. One of this latter pair was to rig a stick of dynamite to the far side of the ship in case they needed a diversion.

Ati and Panut stealthily made their way ahead to find the captain's quarters, which is where they were told the gold would be located. Each time a bolt of lightening broke from the sky, the two crouched against the containers at the rear of the ship. Eventually they reached the stairwell leading up the superstructure. Ati waved back for the two to start their patrol and then she and Panut crept up several flights of slippery steps, carefully peeking into windows on each flight to try and pinpoint the captain's room.

Ati's heart was pounding with excitement. Her hand clutched the gun grip tightly. Apart from a low glow from the bridge, there was only one other room issuing any light. From as far as she was willing to thrust her head into this latter window, Ati could see some plaques hanging on the wall. She guessed this was the captain's door and pressed her ear to it but couldn't hear anything above the squall outside. She tested the knob and it was unlocked. She looked at Panut and nodded. He nodded back. Ati turned the knob and the two sprang in brandishing their weapons. Silent but looking fierce.

The terrified man inside let out a choked shriek, dropped his coffee mug onto the low table before him and instinctively raised his hands when he saw these two frightening figures burst into his room and level their weapons at his face. He had been reviewing a set of charts and munching on a sandwich when our two brigands interrupted. The captain gulped down the bite he had been chewing while this angry woman in front hissed something at him in a language he didn't understand. When the old man behind her waved his pistol at the large safe in the corner, the nervous captain clearly understood and rose from his couch with his arms still in the air. He cautiously inched his way to the safe, his wide eyes on Ati and her rifle the whole time, and started turning the dial with his trembling hand. When he at last released the latch, Panut pushed him aside and greedily opened the safe door.

Ati kept her muzzle trained on the captain. Her attention however was unmistakably drawn to the safe's contents. There certainly wasn't any gold inside—there was no question whatsoever about that. But what Ati did see was, in its own right, more amazing still.

Panut lugged out a small black wooden box, about three-hands wide across either side and four-hands high. Its lacquer pigment was unnaturally dark and the cabin's faint light plunged into the dreadful hue. The overall craftsmanship was dense and primitive with a small silver lock sealing the whole contraption shut. The lid, which was its most marvelous attribute, was encrusted with countless tiny red gems that flashed in Ati's eye. She noticed a bare section in the middle where the twinkling stones were arranged as if to outline the silhouette of a hand. Her thoughts immediately went to her lost secret friend and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She listened to the storm howl outside. “The stones alone must be worth a fortune. Surely there is something far more valuable locked inside,” Ati said to herself. But this fleeting thought hardly reflected the depth of emotions she was suddenly experiencing…

For indeed it is difficult to describe the full scope of Ati's response to this unexpected and mysterious object. She was at once struck with a morbid revulsion countered by an overwhelming and sinister curiosity. As both she and the captain watched Panut set the box on the floor, clearly it was affecting her unlike either of the other two. The captain looked merely fretful, like he knew he was going to end up in big trouble for allowing this theft. Panut, on the other hand, seemed genuinely disappointed with their finding or lack thereof. He was plainly irritated as he tried to pry the lid. It was no use. The box wasn't going to open…

Just then there was a loud explosion from below. Ati and Panut both flinched and, seizing the moment's confusion, the captain instantaneously jumped toward his bureau. Without a thought, Ati squeezed off a short burst into his flank. Panut was shocked and stared at her in fear. The raid had taken an irreversible course and he well knew it.

“Ati, Bejo's fumbled the fuse! They'll be on us quick as fire! We've got to go!”

Ati looked down upon the dead captain. His bloodied corpse crumpled over, its lifeless face twisted onto a smushed cheek. The contorted grimace seemed to be mocking her from beyond…in the distance she heard people shouting in English over the wind, and gunshots echoing all around.

“Snap out of it, little girl! We've got to get out of here!”

“Give me the box, Panut.”

“Ati! I'm going to leave without you and this damned box if you don't snap out of it now!”

“Give me the box…”

“Leave the fucking box! There's more at stake than…”

But then Ati shot Panut in the face. He fell with a thud next to the dark object that brought about his death. Ati dropped her rifle, kicked the old rogue's cadaver aside, heaved the surprisingly heavy box off the floor and marched resolutely down the stairs and onto the deck, the rain whipping her brow, bullets whistling just above her head from multiple directions. In a single step she leapt clean overboard with the box hugged tightly in her arms, far though the air, smack into the churning, rain-pelted waves. The dead weight of her evil spoil dragging her down, down, down.

IV

Into something rich, & strange…

If Ati had been able to withdraw her focus from that fateful box on the way into the ocean, she might have noticed the body of her late friend Bejo bobbing amid a scattering of singed coconuts. Or perhaps, after she had gone under several meters, she might also have noticed the Lost Pearl overhead gurgling rapidly away with its last two surviving crewmembers into the storm-torn night. But as the black silence of the underwater realm grew increasingly absolute, Ati's mind completely forgot the commotion of this tragic scene unfolding on the water's surface. The muted bubbling surrounding her face quieted…the pressure in her head had become painful. All she could hear anymore was the internal echo of her own pulse rushing in her ears. Still, against all reason, she clung to the plummeting box as if it were salvation itself. Strange thoughts and visions came to Ati during that long journey down.

As she slipped into a semi-unconscious state, the first vision that came to her was that of the sad, horribly wounded face of Panut. It floated before her and, as the passing waters washed away the blood that had caked about the gruesome hole just below the left eye, it seemed to be silently pleading Ati to explain what had caused her to betray her old mentor so readily. She had never witnessed such a pathetic look on his face before, all its brazen hardness now completely worn away. How could she explain to him? She herself couldn't understand the sudden transformation the box had wrought in her. It was as if she had been totally powerless at the time to resist possessing it all for herself. But she had now managed to regain some of her own will and the further she plunged away from that irrational moment of treachery, the more she sensed, and to a degree welcomed, an oppressive guilt that was helping to hurtle her ever faster downward. And when Ati opened her mouth in an effort to offer some form of apology to the waning ghost of Panut, she gagged on a gulp of water that wrenched in her stomach. It was the first time that she had been able to taste the bitter saltiness since her childhood. The sea now tasted hostile and deadly unlike ever before. The vision was gone.

Ati then began to imagine, as if from outside of herself, what her miniscule body must look like as it dropped toward the ocean floor. Was she facing upright or going headlong down? So great was the pressure all around, she could no longer tell which direction the water was passing. She guessed she was upside down, for her feet seemed to be trailing miles away from her, flopping about limply in the flowing tides. She tensed her core and her tiring arms clutched the box more desperately against her belly. Ati lowered her chin and thought she could see the glimmer of the lid. The magical red stones seemed to emanate light from within like distant stars in the surrounding black. It felt as if she were falling inwardly toward them, drawn ineluctably into the outlined hand's throbbing and uncanny gravity. The water compressing about her grew frighteningly cold.

Why had death not yet come? How much longer could she stave the inevitable drowning that must ultimately bring the only peace now awaiting her? It felt so near and yet unattainable. As much as her conscience darkly craved it, there remained an as of yet undefeated and intrinsic kernel that would not let Ati release her breath. Her lungs ached. Her lips pinched sharply to keep out the prying waters. Surely her strength would give soon.

And it was then that she noticed a shimmering shape surface from below. At first she thought it must be a giant eel by the way it appeared to be slithering toward her. But the phosphorescent form metamorphosed as it drew closer and assumed the contours of a human body that glowed brilliantly about its edges. Ati's heart leapt, for she immediately recognized it to be her secret friend returned at last. The being kept its distance, as if guardedly, wading just above as her descent slowed. She almost lost grip of the box as she reached out. Her friend withdrew a pace, the entity's radiance illuminating the whole scene around her. She felt her feet gently settle into the soft sands of the sea floor that stretched beneath a web of slow green ripples.

“Ati,” the being called down to her.

“Brother, can you forgive me...?”

“Ati, you can never let go the box.”

“Please, Brother. Please forgive me…”

But the form spoke nothing more. Its outline wavered and then vanished amid the vast weaving underwater curtains of the sea. The dark oceanic vault started to close in around Ati as the pain of revisited loss welled in her throat. She crumpled over upon the malevolent box now buried halfway in the sand. A dull clang came resonating through the dense waters.

Clong…

And then again.

Clong…, clong…,

It was like the heavy metallic sound of an invisible bell resonating all around her. So powerful was its tone, Ati felt its enormous casing must be totally enclosing her. Its clapper, however, seemed to strike within her head. The tempo slow at first, but continually increasing. Louder and louder…

…clong… clong , CLONG…

…until the pace had grown frantic, echoing over itself again and again. It was deafening now. Ati closed her eyes and sunk her head into her arms as if to weep. She had failed utterly…failed as a daughter…failed as a captain…and now failed to retain the last living piece left to her. At last she was truly alone, with nothing but the cold and lifeless box to support her trembling, fading body. Ati raised her head slightly from the black mass supporting it and attempted to let out a final conscious sob that was cut instantaneously short by a sickening torrent of water that choked her lungs with burning salt. All went black.

C-L-O-N-G .

V

The last knelling of the temple bell came suddenly and then quickly deteriorated behind the thrum of interwoven city sounds. Ati woke to find herself entrenched upon a small steep muddy embankment along the bend of a wide river filled with all variety of watercraft churning in every possible direction. A loud jet tore high overhead through the open sky from where the huge sun was pouring its hot morning light upon the river's filthy brown water and across the towering buildings that surrounded Ati as far as her eye could see. The jumble of billboards in strange script jutting out, the bewildering din of water traffic and street traffic, the erratic shouts in a foreign tongue from every side all contributed to Ati's wooziness. She must have swallowed some of the river water whose putrid stench was fuming off her mud-caked clothes and hair. She looked over her shoulder and saw the central porcelain-grey prang of a magnificent temple soaring over the row of trees just behind her…Where had she seen it before…? Where the fuck was she...? Could this possibly be what death is like? If so, then surely it was hell…

But really this was all too much wishful and disoriented thinking. For the recuperating brain's first instinct is to make sense of its surroundings, no matter how strange the existence of the world it starts to piece together. No, it was all beginning to make all too much sense…Ati had seen enough written Thai and had heard enough tales about the river-dominated Venice of the East to realize that where she now sat, drenched and miserable, however inconceivable and inexplicable as it may have been, was in the far off city of Bangkok. But how? So absurd was this reality thrusting itself upon her struggling mind, Ati didn't know where to begin to question it. So stinging were its details swarming around her, she could also only assume she was still alive.

Ati glanced down and saw the black box on its side next to her. It too had been thoroughly smeared with mud but was still intact, the lid sealed ever tightly. Beneath its grimy coating, the thing no longer appeared so ominous as before and instead seemed rather cheap and trivial in the piercing light of this new setting. Could this harmless looking object be the same sinister device that had infected Ati to the verge of madness and had nearly cost her her life? As she wiped the sludge from the lid, the stones felt cool and sharp beneath her slender fingers. She was certain that some dark and imperceptible force must still be operating within. What else could have dragged her helplessly yet safely through the endless chambers of the sea for untold number of days unto at last the shore of this never before seen river? And while she had to admit she probably owed her pathetic survival to this mysterious object, it had also mercilessly caused the loss of her friends, of her dear Lost Pearl , and of all the belatedly appreciated bliss of her past life. And it was now moreover solely to blame for abandoning her to fend for herself in this god-forsaken city. What was she to do? Any rational human being would have felt blessed to be alive after such an unbelievable ordeal. Ati though was not so sure. She felt sickeningly ambivalent about her continued existence. Why wasn't she dead too? If Panut were here, he would know what to do: he was so much savvier about city life.

And in this moment of confused self-pity, the memory of her final encounter with her lost friend returned to Ati and a painful sense of betrayal constricted her heart. Damn her secret brother and his few and wasted words! When was the last time their interaction had not been conflicted? When was the last time he had told her anything truly tender or caring? This is how he treats her in her most dire moment of need! Unwilling to forgive! No matter what he had warned about the box, Ati's gut told her to be rid of the cursed thing as quickly and as lucratively as possible. Besides, deep down, she knew she would never have to answer to him again.

And so, just as a couple of passing city folk were beginning to scrutinize our poor Ati, she pried herself from the thick mud, picked up the box from which a trickle of water oozed, and clambered up the bank onto the concrete walkway along the river, her shoes sloshing beneath her feet. In no time at all she had blended into the shifting crowd upon the streets, the box hanging low against her belly, supported from its base by her tired and dirty hands. It did not weigh as much as she remembered.

Ati had experienced big cities before, mostly from their ports. Her life as a smuggler had led her to places like Port Klang, Jakarta and even Singapore once. Goods and money inevitably gravitate toward the cities. But back then she had always had the comfort of the ocean in sight and was always glad to return to the open seas. Now, as she walked the twisting streets of Bangkok aimlessly, she felt suffocatingly landlocked. The bustling flow of bodies and faces whirling around her, the traffic speeding then stopping then speeding once again down the boulevards, the heavy clouds of exhaust—all this contributed to Ati's swelling nausea. How many times did she accidentally step right in front of a squealing car or motorbike? The gigantic buildings blocking out the sky loomed like they were about to tumble straight upon her dizzy head, the city on whole bulging and contracting simultaneously in a million different places as if in constant flux between warring solid and elastic states, like one vast undulating mass through which our lost Ati inched anxiously along, in constant dread she might get sucked down into it all and never resurface alive.

What did this multitude of strange people think of her? For Ati certainly looked a mess. But the overwhelming attitude appeared to be one of general unconcern toward her and her bizarre trapping. Sure, once or twice some well-to-do passerby would glare at her disapprovingly. But they didn't seem to differentiate her much from the other local riff-raff wandering the streets.

At one point Ati saw two young monks dressed in nothing more than their saffron-colored robes coming down the sidewalk. They appeared to be out about their mundane business, stopping to look in shop windows or perusing food stalls. Ati was amazed at how nonchalant everyone else was towards their presence. Some people bowed as they passed, but nothing more. When the two monks walked by, she retreated a step as if in fear they might perceive something impure in her purpose, but they didn't pay her any mind. Clearly she was the only one marveling so over their shaved heads.

Ati had no idea what she was moving toward but her instinct was to push ahead. For some time now she had lost sight of the river and made finding it again her exclusive goal. She passed several official-looking buildings, a couple other temples and even a cemetery. Eventually she crossed a canal which helped reorient her toward the river. Countless more storefronts, a couple other temples (these Buddhists seem to have one on every corner!) and then, by early afternoon, she found the river once more as she spotted a pair of bridges spanning over.

When Ati was midway across the nearer bridge, she stopped, set the box down and gazed upon the waters far beneath, the steady swish of cars rushing across the bridge behind her. It felt good to give her arms a rest. Leaning over the old green steel beams, she watched a narrow yellow river taxi gurgling its two passengers upriver. It zipped brazenly close to a long barge floating calmly the other way.

For an instant Ati thought that perhaps it would be best if she simply tossed herself and the box into the vast moving current below. And yet this was nothing greater than a fleeting notion entertained in a rather capricious moment of self-irony. For truth be told, Ati's mood had lightened much through the course of her journey. The walking seemed to be good for her spirits. Her clothes were nearly dry and the sun felt warm and invigorating on her face and neck. The breeze off the water was refreshing. And, as lost and helpless as she felt in this uncanny and limitless city, there was a tangible curiosity that was beginning to kindle within. She did not waste much time on the bridge. Rejuvenated, she picked up the box once more and quickly finished her crossing.

The far side of the bridge led into an oblong tree-lined park. Ati decided to pierce through the foliage to seek a little respite from all the noise. The scene within was pleasantly quieter. In the center of the park was a wide stone monument with gold trim. At its center Ati made out a dark figure seated on a pedestal in front and she approached to see what it was all about. It was the huge bronze statue of a man with a wide brim hat seated on a throne in front of a sort of doorway in low relief. Several long strands of brilliant yellow flowers hung from the tips of his boots, his knees and the sword lain horizontally across his lap. His face was stern yet kind, his posture rather relaxed. Ati gazed on the statue but a short while and then promptly resumed her trek, pondering for a spell who this man might have been.

The commotion on this side of the city was definitely more staggering. But by now she had adequately braced herself for it. Besides, now that she was somewhat more at ease, she felt she could more readily appreciate the endless rainbow of spectacles the metropolis had to offer. The sun was beginning its descent, but the city seemed to grow even more alive the further it sank, as if the innumerable inhabitants found new energy in the coming cool of the night.

Ati no longer concerned herself so much with the route of the streets and instead let herself be drawn forward by the unfolding array of characters and scenes she happened across. Over here was a young man smoking a cigarette while confidently directing two boys how to load his tuk-tuk to twice its height with bulk-wrapped flowers. There a loving father riding his little daughter home in her school uniform on the gas tank of his motorbike. And there three pretty girlfriends giggling and caressing one another as they stepped off a bus, all innocently dressed up for a girls' evening out. Thais were such a mesmerizing race…the people so tall and graceful by and large. And though a universally urbane indifference underlay their every expression and gesture, there was an indisputable tranquility and kindness in almost every eye she met.

Around this hour of the evening Ati spotted the half-full moon making its way above the buildings. This meant she had been lost at sea for at least three days. How could this have been? she wondered. How does one survive the ocean unconscious for so long? But there was little use marveling over it now. What did time mean to Ati anymore? She never was one to be too preoccupied with the calendar before, and was even less so now.

Perhaps the most impressionable experience she had that day was when she ran into an elephant just plain standing there on a busy street corner. Mostly only the passing foreigners were paying it any attention from whom the owner was making his money. Ati had never seen anything quite like this fabulous animal. She walked right up to it and set her box down so she could touch its huge head. Its hide was thick and course yet sensitive in a way, its whooshing breath long and powerful. The elephant could have crushed her foot in an instant, but it displayed an elegant delicacy as it shifted its vast weight slowly from side to side. The beast's soft and intelligent eyes seemed to look at Ati in knowing commiseration, its owner standing at its side murmuring some form of constant reassurance and rubbing its leg as if to say, “Listen, I'm no more thrilled to be here than you. But we have our livelihood to think of.” The image of those sorrowful eyes stayed with her for some time as she continued her wandering.

At last Ati came upon a street sign whose two word translation into English below the Thai she could read: “ New” and “Road .” She liked the sound of that, so she decided to follow.

By this time she was having a hard time ignoring her hunger and knew that sooner or later she was going to have to come by a bite without the benefit of any money. And although Ati had seen several successful beggars along the way, such means were without question completely beneath her. And so she started to keep her eye open for an opportune time and place to steal some food. So many spots throughout the city offered the occasion for pilfering. There really wasn't any need to locate a market per se to find an abundance of food just waiting to be had. Wherever people gathered, there were gads of stalls offering every variety of delicacies. All she needed was the diversion of a crowd and you could leave the rest to her dexterous little hands. And while she imagined at first that the box was going to be a terrible obstruction, she soon learned she could adequately hold it in place with one hand and that it ultimately provided an excellent spot to conceal her haul.

As pathetic as it sounds, thieving made her feel good about herself. And while she was having a great amount of fun admiring her own skills, Ati realized that what she was enjoying so much about this city was the heightened amount of anonymity it allowed one to indulge. She felt inexplicably free in her utter alienation. No one really cared a jot that she didn't speak the language, that she didn't know where she was going, or that she was dressed so shabbily. It was not unlike the sense of freedom she loved so much about the sea. But instead of the sea's fathomless waters and its sky's unreachable horizon, here in the city it was the endless scene of human interactions and the unbound tapestry of human faces that instilled one with that oceanic sense of the infinite. And as Ati was cautiously watching out for witnesses, she felt that each set of eyes she confronted seemed to burn as brightly yet distantly as any star she had ever fixed upon in the sea's all-encompassing night. She thought that, if she could somehow see beyond all the din and flash of city life, if she could somehow peel away all the flesh and ornament, she might be able to see the face of Allah here too. And it was these types of musings that preoccupied her while her nimble fingers performed their work instinctively. Within the matter of a few blocks, she had managed to stash two bananas, three rambutans and a mangosteen between her belly and the box. And now having put some distance between herself and the unsuspecting vendors, she ravenously devoured a banana as she made her way further down New Road . God, it tasted so good! She couldn't believe it had been at least three days since she last ate. She immediately peeled the other and stuffed it down her gullet, mouthful after sweet mouthful. She would save the rest for when she had a chance to sit.

It is hard to say how late into the night it was when Ati decided she couldn't walk anymore and turned onto a side road in hopes of finding a convenient bush to sleep behind. And it was then, someway down the dark street, beneath the backside of a grand hotel, that Ati saw what she knew she had been looking for this whole time: a huge complex of stores that appeared to deal exclusively in high-end objets d'arts. She gazed for sometime on the unlit modern building with its lavish courtyard of expansive still fountains and sculptures of cranes while she sat and enjoyed the rest of her fruit and wondered if she would have the wherewithal to successfully make the fence. And for a brief moment she felt ambivalent about the prospect of finally parting with the box and a slight pang of regret resurfaced. Perhaps she should abide her secret friend's final words. Perhaps this box was her due burden for killing Panut and causing unknown misfortune to her crew. Ah, but tomorrow, once she had that fat wad of cash in her hand, she would have more than luxury enough to determine where to go from here. There would be ample time for remorse afterwards. Maybe she'd spend a night or two in this posh hotel behind her and indulge a long hot bath. The idea was overwhelmingly tempting…

Ati strolled a ways down the street and found a shrub nearer the river where she thought she could sleep unbothered. Her feet were aching horribly. She placed the box on its side and propped her head in her arms upon it. She closed her eyes and dwelled on the elephant she had seen earlier. Where was he sleeping tonight…?

…She then easily drifted off with the lulling sound of the river rhythmically lapping its bank floating over her tiny sleeping form.

VI

That same gentle lapping was the first thing Ati heard when she opened her eyes the next morning. She had slept later than anticipated and must not have fully realized how tired all the walking had made her. She had a terrible ache in her neck from sleeping on the box so awkwardly and thought to herself as she was trying to tweak it out, “Well, let's hope that's the last bit of trouble you'll be giving me. Time to say our goodbyes. I'm sure some stinking wealthy tourist will be just ecstatic to snatch you up and rush you off to home.”

She wished she had more to eat, but soon enough. Ati dusted the box and herself off as best she could and then discreetly slipped out from behind the bush and into the growing bustle of the streets. From a distance she could see the sunlight glistening in the complex's now spewing fountains.

Though she knew she would probably get more for the box if she took the time to comb all the countless shops within, she wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. Ati was painfully aware of how out of place she appeared in this upscale establishment and confined herself to its margins. Fortunately it was still relatively early and most of the businesses were just opening up. She was basically looking for a small empty shop close to an exit. She quickly found just such a one.

A small bell jingled above the door as she entered. The place was filled with an odd mixture of statuary, framed scrolls and jewelry. She saw the proprietor at the far end of the tiny shop sitting behind the counter with his eyes glued to a newspaper—he didn't so much as raise his head at her entrance. As she squeezed her way down the narrow center aisle, she noticed a tall man on the opposite side of the shelf that she hadn't seen before. He was standing in front of a small statuette with a sketchbook and pencil in hand. He looked rather bohemian. When Ati passed by on the other side, he raised his glance above his book and glasses, examined her once up and down, looked her in the eye for a moment, then quickly returned to sketching. He seemed engrossed in his work, so she decided to go ahead and try to make the sell.

When she reached the front, she plopped the box rather noisily onto the high glass countertop and had to stand to the side in order to not be obscured by it. The squat bald old man looked rather like a toad as he raised his eyes and shot Ati an indignant frown, which he sustained until he realized what was sitting right in front of him. His gaze was one of wonder for a moment. But being a wizened dealer, he quickly contained his amazement in hopes that this strange little customer had no idea of the true value of this absolute rarity she just so unassumingly walked right in with.

“You wish to sell?” he asked gruffly. Ati guessed at the content of his question and simply nodded. The owner grinned inwardly: “This couldn't be better,” he thought to himself, “a farang.” He raised his hand as if to beg her to wait a moment and turned his attention to the other customer.

“We're open for paying customers only,” he boomed to the man. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” The artist glared defiantly at him, looked over at Ati, snarled once more at the owner and then stuffed his pencil and sketch book into his back pocket. He was escorted out, the front door locked behind. Ati didn't understand exactly what was going on, but was growing increasingly suspicious.

When the rude toad returned, he opened the register at his side and counted out a tall stack of bills. Ati grabbed the cash, deftly counted it herself and pushed the stack back, shaking her head. She knew plenty about exchange rates from her previous life. This old fuck was clearly trying to cheat her.

Plainly annoyed, the owner raised his hand again and retreated behind the counter a bit and pulled out his mobile phone and dialed. When the call was answered, he hurriedly muttered something under his breath. There was a bit of back and forth and Ati waited impatiently, wishing she could comprehend what he was saying. She was beginning to think now might be the time to make her exit with the box. But a couple of seconds later and the proprietor returned with a rag and a jeweler's loupe.

He smiled somewhat condescendingly at Ati and then started polishing off the box, taking his time to work from the base all the way up to the lid. Once he had removed the last bit of filth, he put the loupe to his eye and went to examining the stones one at a time. Ati let out an audible sigh and rolled her eyes. “Who is this fuck?” she thought. “Can't he just make a decent offer and be done with it? I suppose he needs to make an accurate evaluation of its worth. But for fuck's sake!” She was starting to fume as her eyes darted nervously about the shop. She glowered down on the old man's bald patch as he continued his painstaking assessment.

Her frustration had gotten the better of her, for she had fully bought into this drawn out pantomime by the time she first saw two big men suddenly appear from the doorway behind the counter. The shop owner nodded to the two men knowingly as he quietly withdrew from the scene that was about to unfold. The one thug was brandishing a knife. And the other didn't look very happy at all. Ati quickly grabbed the box in one arm and took a step back.

“Little Sister, why don't you just let us have the box,” spoke the one with the knife as he continued his slow approach. The request was totally lost on her.

Ati tensed herself for the fight. She waited for the first one to get a little closer then she turned as if to bolt. He took the bait and, just as he jumped into his chase, she grabbed a small stone figurine from its stand, dodged sideways and, in one swift turn, brought it cracking across the back of his skull. He crashed into the shelves with a grunt and was buried hopelessly in a heap of sculpture. Ati for her part didn't waste any time rushing to the front door and hurling the figurine through. The glass smashed in a thousand pieces and echoed through the shop. A woman outside in the atrium let out a shrill scream just as a deafening alarm went off inside the shop. Ati looked back and saw the shopkeeper cowering in the corner. The other thug had pulled out a pistol. Fuck! These guys mean business!

She hastily slid through the hole in the jagged glass and raced out of the complex as fast as she could, ducking all the way. People were shrieking and leaping out of her path which signaled to her the one with the gun wasn't too far back. She also knew it was only a matter of time before she had the police on her too.

When she sprung out of the main doors to the courtyard, Ati had to stop in her tracks, for a beat-up powder-blue Rabbit had just hopped the curb and came to a screeching halt right in front of her. The passenger door flung open and she saw the artist from the shop at the wheel.

“Get in!” he yelled. He didn't have to tell her twice, even if she didn't understand.

She could hear the alarm still sounding in the distance as she clambered into the front seat and nearly fell out with the box trying to shut the door behind while the vehicle went screeching around the fountains and off into the snaking Bangkok streets.

VII

Ati couldn't hold back a small laugh as she looked over her shoulder. The whole course of the previous scene had been so exhilaratingly rife with danger…and the subsequent and wholly unexpected rescue too good to be true…she couldn't help but savor the utterly decisive thwarting of her assailants. And when she turned to size up her unknown savior, she was still wearing an uncontrollable smirk.

He was smiling too as he reached down to swap his eyeglasses for a pair of sunglasses. Ati could have faired much worse for help from out of the blue. This fortuitous stranger was really quite handsome sitting there in his jeans and wrinkled white button-down shirt. A few loose strands of long black hair hung over his large dark brown eyes as he looked over at her before donning the sunglasses. He combed his hair back behind his ears with his free hand and focused back on the road as he steered them with abandon through whatever opening he could find, into the oncoming lane at times.

“I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Pravat. How about you?”

Ati just looked at him in silent puzzlement.

“You sure do know how to make an exit.”

She remained quiet.

“Let me guess…you're not from around here,” Pravat joked with a mischievous grin, secretly relishing the opportunity to use such a cinematic cliché.

Ati really didn't care what he was trying to get at. She simply studied his kind face and his graceful gestures. The fact that he hadn't once paid any notice to the box on her lap made her feel he was someone she could trust, at least for the meantime. In fact she herself wasn't thinking much about the box either. She rolled down her window and watched the garland of flowers dangling from his rearview mirror as it swayed with each erratic swerve of the car. The wind was whipping her hair into her mouth. Their pace was beginning to make her feel a little queasy.

Pravat turned up the stereo loudly and just kept on driving. The music was some blasting, rollicking symphony. There was no way that she could have known it was the finale to Beethoven's Seventh.

After a while she pulled the hair from her mouth and murmured, “Ati.”

Pravat turned down the music.

“Hmm? What's that?” he asked looking her in the eye over his glasses.

“Ati,” she said more resolutely.

“Oh…nice to meet you, Ati.” Pravat smiled at her kindly, pushed his glasses back up his nose and then turned the music up again. He seemed to be enjoying the thrill of the drive. Ati let herself get lost in the emotive swells and dips of the music. They were both otherwise too preoccupied with their own thoughts to say anything else for the remainder of the ride.

VIII

They drove quite some distance across the city. Eventually Pravat turned off the music as they turned down a small side street where he flashed a card to an attendant, who then moved aside the gates so they could get by. A short way down the alley they pulled into a small private garage beneath a house. Pravat got out of the car and walked around to Ati's side as she was opening her door and getting out with the box.

“Well, we're here.” He fully knew by now that she didn't understand a word he was saying, but he couldn't keep himself from talking. He thought it might help to make him seem a little less intimidating.

He led Ati through a high fence gate into a closed-off garden filled with all variety of trees and shrubs that made the whole yard feel completely sealed off from the rest of the city. Tiny paper lamps were hung throughout the trees. A small round stone table sat on a large stone slat in the center of the garden with two curved benches encircling it. At the back of the yard was a white low-roofed shed obscured by two overgrown ferns and the drooping boughs of a tamarind. A path of stones led to the table in the middle, then forked off to the closed door of the shed or to the back steps of an elegant light wood frame house. Ati could see into the kitchen and living room through the tall glass windows that comprised much of its back facade. She saw inside a gigantic wooden table with two stools and a set of stairs leading up to the second story.

She followed him through the courtyard slowly, taking this all in. Pravat went to the house and slid open the back door and beckoned her in.

“No offense, but you look like you could stand a shower,” he ventured when she drew near. He ducked through a door behind the stairs and then stepped back out with a fresh towel which he placed on top of the box in Ati's arms. “Wait right here.” Next he stomped up the stairs and, in a matter of a few moments, came stomping back down with a clean t -shirt and pair of blue silk pajama bottoms which he also stacked on top of the box. He popped back into the bathroom behind the stairway and Ati could hear him turn on the faucet. When he came out again, he motioned toward the bathroom and said, “It's not much, but it will have to do. You'll probably need to roll up those pants. It's all yours.” Then he went out to the garden, sliding the back door shut behind.

Ati hardly hesitated to accept the offer. It was simply too inviting. Besides, Pravat had already managed to instill a good dose of trust in her. She didn't find him at all threatening and there was moreover a certain amount of tantalizing flirtatiousness that had been building from the very moment she jumped into his car. She stepped into the small bathroom, shut the door, set the box down by the shower window and undressed. The water was steaming hot already. She stood motionless beneath the showerhead for several minutes, letting the water just pour through her hair and trickle down over her closed eyes.

When she came out, Pravat was nowhere to be found. The place was absolutely quiet inside and out. Ati placed the box on the dining room table and started to explore around.

For a modern day urbanite, Pravat lived a fairly minimalist life. He kept his belongings to the essentials and the place rather neat (quite the contrary state of his automobile). But with the few things he did own, he seemed to insist on a certain level of quality. The huge teak dining table the box was on, the matching stools, the high-backed leather armchair in the corner of the living space, the steel floor lamp behind, and the two squat bookcases flanking the chair were all simple in design but very finely crafted. Of course this was all the height of luxury as far as Ati was concerned. She felt like a queen as she squeaked back into the armchair and perused the many books lining the shelves. They were all books on art: some in Thai, many in English; books on ancient art, books on modern art. They were not very interesting to her—just so many small and flat pictures she knew nothing about—and she quickly grew tired of them and decided to check out the upstairs.

The upper story was comprised of just one large room with a large still fan over its center and a great window on the far wall that let in a tremendous flood of diffuse light. In the center of the back wall sat a high teak bed with unmade orange-and-purple-striped linens, and a small table stand and a bureau at either side. Also to the one side of the bed hung a tall unadorned mirror. These alone were the only typical bedroom furnishings…

For the whole rest of the room was thoroughly devoted to all manner of an artist's supplies, strewn about every otherwise available space. There were four standing easels holding boards filled with simple drawings of torsos and heads, some in black ink, others in red crayon, of all possible size and in various stages of completion. Even more drawings were taped to the walls, their broad strokes sometimes extending onto the wall itself. There were disheveled sketchpads heaped in every corner. The center of the room was dominated by a low makeshift table loaded with tumblers of ink, crumpled rags, a pocketknife, jars full of brushes and dirtied water, and sticks of charcoal and pencil. Stubs of used up crayons and little piles of charcoal dust littered the floor. Ati squeezed her way through the mess, gazing on several of the drawings along the wall.

They were all of the human form, and it must be remembered how novel, if not taboo, such imagery was to a girl who was raised Muslim. But we must also recognize that Ati had long ago grown used to the ways of transgression and was thus enticed by the forbidden subject matter at hand. Never had she been so mesmerized with any art. Each piece, no matter what its style, pulsed with a life distinctly its own, two pervasive themes however recurring throughout: they were all either sketches of a headless sculptured torso or studies of a bust. The images of the torso were more consistently classical in nature, and Ati could tell they were all studies of the same figure from different angles and under different light. Those of the bust though, which gravitated around the mirror on the wall, were greatly varied, becoming at times quite dark and abstract, all self-portraits it would seem. And as she went from drawing to drawing, she assumed that the two subjects must be intrinsically related but was having trouble seeing the link clearly. When she reached the room's window, she looked out and noticed Pravat below entering the garden from outside and carrying a few bulging plastic bags in one hand. He saw her in the window and waved to her to come down. Ati hoped he wasn't going to be mad at her.

When she reached the garden, Pravat was unpacking an abundance of Styrofoam containers onto the stone table.

“I thought I'd get us some lunch. I'm usually quite hungry by this time of the afternoon. How about you?” As he pulled off the plastic lids, the wonderful smells of curries and rice and soup filled Ati's nose. He then unwrapped some foil, revealing a huge whole-fried bass smothered in a thick peppercorn sauce. Ati's stomach twitched longingly and she looked at him and grinned as if he had just read her innermost desire.

“Stay right here. I'll get some silverware.” She could barely wait.

She watched Pravat enter the house and walk right by the box without paying it any heed. He promptly returned with forks and spoons and the two dug in immediately, eating directly from the containers and sharing them back and forth. Ati tried to be polite and steady her pace, but when she saw how he was engorging himself without a care, she quickly followed suit. Was he watching her from behind those sunglasses?

When they had nearly finished, Pravat pulled out two big bottles of beer and opened them with a pocketknife. He and Ati drank heartily, smiling at one another between long gulps. Soon he pulled out a silver cigarette case and removed a fat joint from within. He lit it and took a big drag then let the sweet-smelling smoke come pouring out his nostrils. He handed the joint to Ati, who also took a deep drag and then blew a series of thick rings of smoke above their heads. He laughed unreservedly at this.

“You've done this before,” he joked. Ati just smiled coyly and handed the joint back.

And the two whiled away the quickly passing hours of their indulgent afternoon thusly in purely affectionate levity. They were silent for the most part, communicating through gestures and glances. Every now and then Pravat would express some sort of untranslated witticism, primarily for his own benefit. Ati said not a word. To her mind, it seemed somehow perfect that they were unable to speak with one another. And as the sun was sinking beneath the trees and the cool evening began to wrap the intimate little garden in its rich shadows, Pravat lit the lanterns so they could continue their childlike flirtations outdoors into the night. And he also finally put on his regular glasses. Ati was all that much more charmed now that she could see how he continually snuck adoring glances at her. They smoked another joint and watched the geckos crawl across the walls. Pravat kept opening more beers and the two only took breaks from one another to go inside and go pee. Ati's head was getting unbelievably foggy. She remembers that at one point, when the waxing moon had long since shot over their heads, he went in to fetch a plate of sliced pineapple and a salt shaker. The fruit was simply dripping, its strands sticking in her teeth, the sugary juice running down her fingers which tasted salty when she licked them. The whole night was becoming a blur. And she could hardly recall the exact circumstances that finally led them into one another's arms kissing each other wildly. She remembers him stumbling on the stairs on the way into his house. She remembers knocking over one of the stools and looking back at the box on the table as he pulled her up the stairs, and thinking, “I'm going to smash you to smithereens tomorrow.” And she remembers him pulling off her shirt and laying his long soft hands upon her dark nipple. And him combing his fingers through her long hair. And how she felt so small and safe in his embrace. And her speaking his name for the first time And as she at last lied there, breathing heavily and dizzy with giddiness, propped on his sleeping body's shoulder, her small palm on his smooth and gently heaving chest, she remembers feeling the thin key that was strung on a shot-bead chain about his neck.

IX

Ati slept in the next day. She could tell it was late in the morning from the angle of the light hitting the floor beneath the window. How warm and relaxed her lone naked body felt in this big and soft bed. And she lay there for some time just staring at the still fan on the ceiling and savoring what recollection remained of the previous night's bliss.

Eventually she noticed that one of the easels had been moved near the head of the bed which pricked her curiosity enough to rise and find where she had tossed the two articles of clothing that comprised her new attire. She then went to examine the easel.

She could tell Pravat had been awake much earlier, for there before her now hung an elaborate drawing in black and white crayon of herself asleep in bed. An immediate self-consciousness overcame her and yet she couldn't remove her eyes. She had never encountered a depiction of herself and the experience was rather profound. Sure, she had seen a few photographs before, and the fascination back then with her own image was akin to what she was feeling now. But there was something distinctly complex in this present medium, more multidimensional, something uniquely subjective that could simply never be expressed in a photograph. Despite all the drawing's pervasive serenity, the viewer was somehow made quietly aware that none of this could have ever been without the artist, as if you could still hear in the background the sound of each searching stroke scraping across the paper.

Pravat had portrayed Ati's naked form as being nearly lost in the sheets' subtle folds, her long black hair unfurling and disappearing into the deep shadows that overtook the bottom corner. For he had also drawn her from above so that she hung nearly upside down, as if in suspension. So sparse were the details of her person—the faint upward curve of her closed eyelid, the tiny tip of her nose, the gentle contour of her belly, a half-bent knee peeking from behind a ruffle, the top of her right foot receding into the background—one would be hard pressed to identify her as the subject. And yet it was so intimate, Ati felt as if she had sat outside her slumbering body and drawn it herself. She peered in the mirror on the wall and wondered, “Is this what I look like to others? So small?” But as her eyes turned back and moved around the paper, imagining how each stroke was laid down, the sequence of each line, she slowly came to the revelation that, as tangible as this sense of the work unfolding before one's eyes was, there was conversely a secret and yet omnipresent fleetingness, a troubling impermanence to the whole thing too. The lighting was that of morning's first moments and the entire tableau possessed an elusive, atmospheric haziness, as if, were the viewer to concentrate on it too hard, the chalk might simply fall from its delicate settling on the paper, as though in the end it existed as more of a memory than a living event. And this was what instilled the piece with a profound sense of sorrow. And thus did Ati stand in front of the easel for unknown minutes reflecting on her own image, Narcissus-like, lost in a completely different world.

It was some while before the faint erratic clinking of metal on metal that was coming from outside was able to rouse her from her timeless momentary trance. And when she then glanced at one of the drawings of the torso on the wall, Ati thought she had for but a moment caught glimpse of its connection with Pravat's self-portraits. But she peered harder, and it was lost.

She came downstairs and found the box sitting where she had last left it, untouched. There was a coffeepot, two clean cups and two croissants on a plate across the table from it. Ati bent over and studied the box's lock, trying to recall the size and the shape of the key she had discovered around Pravat's neck. And though she knew that the likelihood was remote, she felt in her heart that there must be some connection…

She looked out into the yard and saw the door to the shed cracked open with a light on inside. The clinking however had ceased. When she opened the house's back door, a pair of birds that were scavenging the crumbs left on the stone table the previous night fluttered away. The sun was starting to mount high and blaze strongly. Ati crossed the stone path to the shed and knocked.

“Pravat...?” she called out meekly.

She heard the sound of crinkling plastic. When she slid the door open a bit and peeked inside, she saw Pravat hurriedly concealing something on a tall table with a tarp. The shed was set up as a studio with four huge floodlights positioned in every corner. The walls were lined with shelves holding countless jars full of every size and shape of hammer, chisel, riffler and rasp alongside the odd small power tool. Pravat stood there shirtless, wearing a dust mask. His chest was sweaty and, like the rest of the place, coated in dust, the key still strung about his neck. He looked startled somewhat, like Ati had taken him off guard, and was incredibly arousing to her in this messed and vulnerable state. She wanted to attack him right away. But she was also embarrassed for interrupting his work. While he had seemed more than willing to share the portrait back up in his bedroom, clearly he did no want her to see what he was working on here. He removed the mask from his face, revealing a huge smile. He brushed himself off with a rag and then put on a t -shirt that had sat crumpled by the entrance.

“Uh, good morning, Ati. We have a big day ahead of us. You should get some food in you.” She looked at him uncomprehendingly. Pravat turned off all the lights and led her by the hand across the garden and back to the house. His seamless warmth made her feel immediately at ease.

Pravat sat her down on one of the stools inside, poured each of them a cup of coffee and took one of the croissants and started devouring it. Ati tore off a piece and started chewing too. She was surprised by the pastry's sweetness, which she washed down with a bitter sip of coffee. She wanted to ask him about the drawing upstairs, or about his work in the shed, but didn't know how to go about it. And so she just kept on pealing off more pieces of croissant and gulping more coffee.

“I borrowed some clothes from a friend,” he said between bites. He lifted a green tank top, pants and a pair of sandals from the other stool. “They may be a little big, but they'll make do for the time being.” Ati guessed his meaning and, once she'd finished her cup and wiped the flakes from her lips, she went to the bathroom and dressed. When she came back out, Pravat was coming down the stairs, having put on some clean pants and a nicer shirt.

“Very becoming. The color complements your skin…Come on. Let's get going.” And he grabbed her hand tenderly.

It was with some reluctance that Ati left without the box. But she figured it was probably safer here than anywhere else and it would be ridiculous to keep toting it around everywhere she went. When she looked at it over her shoulder as they were leaving the house, she thought, “Maybe it would be best if someone did go ahead and steal you…What do I need you for anymore anyways?”

X

They took a taxi this time on Pravat's insistence. Which turned out to be rather pleasant since they could sit close together in the back without the driving distracting their affectionate glances and touches. The driver kept to himself, only peeking back at the couple through the mirror from time to time and smiling to himself. He turned the radio up a little to block out the annoying squawk of the cb . And though he drove as hastily as anyone in his profession, he was nowhere near as wild a driver as Pravat, which allowed Ati to relax and enjoy the ride and the company of her lover.

Imagine that. That was the term that immediately sprung to her mind now when she thought of Pravat. Did he think of her similarly?

As they wound through the roads, every now and then he would point out some landmark or another and, though she had no idea what he was describing, she cherished the gesture. Along the way she thought she recognized certain spots from her first day's walk, but couldn't say for sure. The whole city was a whorl to her and she was completely disoriented. She was, however, glad to be off her feet this go around.

After about half an hour, the driver pulled off a busy street up onto a driveway running in front of a tremendous shopping center. Pravat pulled a roll of notes out of his pants pocket and paid the driver and came around to open Ati's door.

“Well, I hope you're ready for some shopping. Forgive the generalization, but all you women like to shop, right? I figured you're going to need a new wardrobe if you're going to…I mean, you're going to need some clean clothes of your own…”

Ati stared all around: at the massive car-packed boulevard down the way, at the pedestrian-packed walkways and stairwells spanning over and down in every direction, at the cars pulling up behind her, at the people entering and leaving the mall, at the security guards moseying about the front, at the folks by the street stalls far out on the sidewalk. And across the way was another complex with much the same scene going on. To her left was a huge tv screen flashing an advertisement down onto the plaza. Ati heard a loud screeching come from a concrete corridor over the busy road which she guessed to be a rail line. The whole metropolitan conglomeration was quite a sight. She had some notion why Pravat had brought her here, but awaited his lead.

“Don't worry,” he assured her as he brought her to the front of the complex and through its huge glass doors. “The salespeople are mostly harmless. They just want your money.”

The first thing that caught Ati's attention were the escalators. She had only ever seen such a contraption in the art mall and had been too distracted at the time to appreciate it. She now desperately wanted to try it out. Pravat immediately perceived her curiosity and they spent a good fifteen minutes just riding up and down the several floors while Ati got a feel for the bizarre machines. Her delight was as visible and innocent as a child's.

Eventually he dragged her away into one of the stores. He had a lengthy discourse with the salesgirl, who then bowed to Ati and went to plucking several articles off the racks. She took Ati to a dressing room while Pravat idled around out front.

The girl lavished her with attention and treated her like an old friend from the very start, beckoning her to try on this and that, exiting for a spell while Ati admired herself in the latest piece and returning with more clothes or accessories. The girl tied her hair up in a braid while she tried on a pair of stockings. Ati lost all track of the hour and by the time she came out to greet Pravat in a snug black-and-white floral-print dress and black leather pumps, several bags of goods had accumulated at the counter. Pravat was just finishing a call on his mobile and hung up in order to admire her smilingly as he handed her some large notes to settle the bill. Ati kissed him lightly on the cheek.

They repeated this scene throughout countless stores. Pravat's hands had grown so full with bags, he finally had to arrange to have their purchases delivered to his house.

It took Ati a while to get used to the heels, but soon enough she felt like a whole new person as she consciously strutted about in her new accouterments, pretending to be just one of the many urbanites strolling about—she could easily get used to all this. And when she was sure they'd visited about every store, Pravat led her out onto a raised walkway, over the road and down to the street where they stopped to get a bite to eat at a crowded coffee shop. As he watched her nibble her sandwich, he thought she looked so proud of her new attire. In no time at all, they were back on the streets, up the walkway and into the mall on the other side.

They continued their spree for some while and Ati was getting very comfortable with the drill. But at one point they passed a travel agency and Ati caught sight of a small map on a sign in the window that read: “Discover Indonesia .” She stopped abruptly to study it and Pravat had to backtrack a bit to see what had snared her attention. She pointed to a small dot almost lost on the far left side of the map.

“Is this where you are from?” he asked as he bent in to examine it more closely.

Ati just looked at him wide-eyed as a sudden pang of regret crept up in her. What was she doing wasting all her time in this elaborate charade? Was she really capable of transforming into someone entirely different? Just what did Pravat want her to become? If he knew what she truly was, if he knew that she was a thief and a murderer, would he still want to be with her?

And Pravat, for his part, could tell that something was troubling Ati, so he pulled her away and tried to distract her with more shopping. He went so far as to buy her an expensive pearl choker at the next shop they stopped in and tenderly latched it about her neck himself. How was he to know this would only nourish greater remorse in Ati who was reminded even more so about all that she had lost? Finally Pravat realized it had all become too much for her and he brought them back out onto the street and hailed another taxi.

“The Shangri-La, please,” he told the driver.

XI

The ride there was somewhat awkward. Ati was slightly annoyed at Pravat because he spent most the time on his mobile. She simply stared out the window watching evening settle on the city and the nightlife start to fill the streets. Pravat felt sorry for being so rude, but there were several calls he needed to make. He finished his last just as the taxi pulled up to the front drive of the five-star hotel.

The doorman bowed a low wai as the two entered the fancy main lobby. Its white marble floors were teaming with vacationing families checking in, businessmen leaving for a night of distraction, and brilliant young couples out for a date. Pravat led Ati through the crowd to a large restaurant on the right side of the main lobby.

The place was absolutely packed. Legions of waiters descended on the crowded tables with trays burgeoning with pasta. A female singer was crooning some soft melody in the background, nearly drowned by all the noise of chatter. The maître d' soon seated Pravat and Ati at a small table in the corner.

Though she was starved, Ati was hardly in the mood for all this right now. The shopping had made her tired and her shoes were beginning to pinch badly. Her dress felt too restrictive now and the choker tight about her throat. The noisy crowd was moreover making her rather claustrophobic. She really would have preferred to be back at Pravat's house in pajamas and eating alone outside like the night before. She tried not to show her discomfort, but Pravat could tell she was out of sorts. He hoped to smooth things over by having a nice bottle of wine brought to the table. When the bottle had been uncorked and poured, he ordered their meals.

Ati found the huge plate of spaghetti that finally arrived difficult to eat and the wine just tasted sour to her virgin palate. And while she spent most of her time either trying to figure out how to gracefully eat her entrée or being distracted by the intimidating social scene engulfing her, Pravat looked on her sadly, wondering what the matter was. Was it something he had done?

At one point a woman came up to the table and interrupted their awkward silence. She was tall and beautiful and looking absolutely stately in her long black dress and draping ivory scarf. Her long black hair was tied up in a bun held with two red chopsticks. Her skin was very dark, her face long, the sly smile she wore and the dark glint in her eyes unmistakably haughty. Pravat rose to greet the woman and kissed her on both cheeks. Who were all these female acquaintances of his? Were these the sort of people he spent so much time on the phone with? First the anonymous woman that lent Ati the clothes this morning, and now this strikingly beautiful lady. He seemed to be better socially connected than she would have originally guessed. Pravat finally gestured to Ati.

“Ati, this is Su Su.”

Ati stood to shake her hand…was this the appropriate response? The lady seemed polite enough, but also somewhat condescending. Here was someone fully at ease in her natural grace and dignity, whereas Ati felt like a mere impostor. As she pulled her hand from the woman's sinewy fingers and sat back down diffidently, Ati thought she must seem totally uncouth in contrast with this lady. Su Su's focus had turned back exclusively on Pravat for the rest of the conversation and Ati noticed that, though a distinct austerity governed this woman's overall demeanor, she and Pravat behaved rather familiarly towards one another as they bantered quickly back and forth. For a second, Ati felt almost invisible. Were they discussing her at all anymore?

When the woman finally made to leave, she pulled a newspaper from under her arm and extended it toward Pravat.

“Take a peek at this fascinating little tidbit,” she said, pointing out an article on the front page as he took the paper from her hand. Afterwards she shot Ati one more quick and curious glance and then departed without another word. Pravat scanned the article and then tucked the paper under his napkin. Ati wondered what this had been all about. Pravat finally turned his attention back to her.

“Su Su used to model for me way back…we've been friends since…” but he stopped there, realizing there was no adequate way to explain. There was so much about his life that he wanted to tell Ati. But it would all have to remain a mystery. For the first time Pravat wished there hadn't been the language barrier between the two of them.

The rest of the meal was a silent disaster. Ati couldn't help it, but a mounting jealousy had started to fume inside of her ever since Su Su's last inscrutable glance. If she hadn't known better, Ati would have said that Pravat had even acted a little fawningly toward her. If only she herself could communicate with him, she was sure she could match Su Su for charm. She gave up trying to finish her plate and gulped down the rest of her wine in hopes that it might help to douse the fire in her chest, but it only made her stomach upset. The music was getting irritating and watching the heaps of food coming out of the kitchen was making her queasy. By now all she wanted to do was leave. And the uneasy thought came to her that she didn't at all deserve Pravat's endless lavishing and she was beginning to even question the sincerity of his motives. But when the urge to flee had grown so overwhelming that she pushed back her chair to stand up, something caught her eye that made her immediately sink back down, almost crouchingly.

For what she had seen was the nefarious little bald toad-of-a-man from the art shop enter the restaurant. He no longer wore that wicked smirk and was instead smiling dotingly on his beautiful young date who towered next to him. An instantaneous fear seized Ati. The box!—she had completely forgotten about the box and immediately began to fret about its safekeeping. The maître d' led the man and his escort toward their table and Ati instinctively clutched her butter knife. As the shop owner brushed right by, he cast a quick glance at Ati and Pravat before being seated at a table several meters beyond. Ati turned her head away. Had he recognized her behind the disguise of her new getup? As soon as the waiter blocked the man's view, she grabbed her purse, jumped up and hurriedly marched through the restaurant and for the hotel's main door without once looking back.

Pravat was taken aback. “Ati...” he blurted out as he confusedly watched her disappear through the crowd. He fished out some money, left an ample pile on the table and then quickly chased after her, the shop owner, along with many others, turning toward the momentary commotion.

When he found her outside, Ati was pacing in the corner of the entryway. He tried to put his arms around her reassuringly.

“Ati, what's wrong?”

But she pulled away from his embrace and stared at him defiantly. Pravat was dismayed.

“I hope it wasn't Su Su that…” but he knew it was no use. He stood there looking at her apologetically for a few seconds.

“I think there is something you need to see,” he at last offered.

XII

Du mußt dein Leben ändern.

Pravat dragged her back inside and to the staircase at the left of the lobby. Ati followed reluctantly, hugging the wall opposite the balustrade so as to avoid being seen from the restaurant. Keeping them at a resolute pace, he took them to the third floor and then through a long corridor that wound past closed shops and convention halls. The hotel was much quieter on this side and they finally descended again, coming out on a long courtyard of lush gardens with a pool along the river.

The breeze off the river was cool and Ati soon felt better being outdoors. As they walked the length of the pool, Pravat made a quick call. When they had reached the end of the courtyard, he opened a small gate and led them down a narrow walkway towards the river.

They approached a small dock and Ati saw a young man waiting there and heard a boat spluttering up. Pravat greeted the boy and the boatman as they steadied the long and narrow vessel against the dock. He handed the boy some folded bills, then held out his hand to help Ati board. He was surprised when, without any assistance, she hopped on with all the effortless dexterity of a seasoned veteran.

It felt good to be back on the water, however different the craft and the river were from what Ati was accustomed to. She and Pravat took a seat on the front bench as the boatman positioned himself in back near the engine. The boy on the dock gave them a big push as the man cranked his motor hard to the side and, within a couple minutes, they were out in the middle of the river skimming upstream across the darkening waters.

Ati took off her shoes. She was admiring the craft's simplicity and its driver's skill as they churned past a gargantuan barge gliding silently downstream and past a huge party boat blaring music and teaming with revelry. At one point she thought she saw a swimmer just off the side, but quickly realized it was only an abandoned coconut floating by.

She was finally beginning to remark how integral this wide river was to the city, how much it must define the city's very shape, and how profoundly its eternal presence must be imprinted on the minds of every inhabitant. And moment by moment Ati came to increasingly respect this body of water, perhaps in some way as much as she did the sea. Its waters had a different feel though, a different rhythm that must have reflected its character to those who traveled it day in and out. It seemed to be more accessible in nature than the sea, more congenial and more nurturing.

Despite the continuous water traffic and the lights and noise of the city along each bank, it felt refreshingly intimate out here, and Ati sensed herself warming back up to Pravat as the two relaxed. The moon was nearly full and high overhead. She watched its faint light shimmer across the fragmenting waves. Pravat meanwhile kept pointing out landmarks. And as they came around the first bend, they went under a pair of bridges, the one of which Ati recognized to be that which she crossed on her first day in Bangkok . She looked to the west and saw again the high central prang plus the four smaller companions of the temple she had awoken under that first desperate hour, now silhouetted against the last orange light of day. “That is the Temple of the Dawn,” Pravat whispered. The towers faded behind the boat as it made its way around another turn.

After passing beneath one more bridge, the boatman eased the throttle and they crept toward the eastern shore. Ati thought they were going to dock until she spotted the mouth of a canal approaching. The boat entered the narrow canal slowly and gently.

Everything grew instantly quieter when they were in. The banks were crowded mostly with rundown residences, makeshift docks and a thick and endless canopy of trees. The moon peeked elusively through the enormous mangos that stretched their long serene leaves far over the still waters. Elaborate lines of rope and wire were stitched all along either side, from rail or tree limb or pole or whatever else was available, strung with miles of laundry, or thick bundles of drying silk. Every now and then the chofa of a temple roof would appear over the dark tops of trees.

Ati was amazed at how thoroughly the city's main streets were blocked from view, the sound of traffic apparent only the few times they passed into the black shadow beneath a low bridge and lost sight of one another's face. It was like a different world on the canal.

Eventually they arrived at a fork and the boatman bore them to the left. Ati found the entire journey deeply tranquil and magical. She moved closer to Pravat and put her arm in his. She would have never guessed such a side to the city had ever existed from her short time on the streets and much preferred this perspective. Somehow the scenery here seemed to embody the hidden lifeblood of the city, its secret origins perhaps. Once or twice another small boat loaded with goods would quietly pass in the other direction, but for the most part Ati felt like they had the whole waterway to themselves. The two remained silent the entire way, the low murmur of the boat's prop growing quieter and quieter the further on they went.

Pravat at long last turned to the boatman and pointed to a spot on the right side of the canal. As the boat crawled toward the bank, Ati could make out a dimly lit house there tucked into a thicket of trees. When they reached a tiny dock on the bank, he handed some money to the boatman and asked him to wait. Pravat then jumped from the boat and extended his reach toward Ati.

He led her by the hand up the small hill onto the lawn of a wide old style Thai house. The grass was cool beneath her bare feet. The elegance of the building silhouetted in the trees before her was something of an anomaly among the other shacks predominating the canal, its gardens dense but kempt. The classically bowed roof looked like a ship's hull silently suspended in the foliage. And yet for all its apparent stateliness, the structure was simple and understated too, sitting unassumingly there among the shadows.

Pravat moved cautiously near the trees, crouching and stopping now and then to scan the grounds, surreptitiously bringing them to the left of the front terrace. Ati wasn't sure if he was being playful or serious, so she simply followed suit, enjoying their prowl immensely. They crossed a small stone pathway and she noticed small statuettes of animals peeking out from the flanking flora. The plants quickly enveloped the path and, if it hadn't been for the house's wall on their right, she would have sworn they were lost in a jungle. So intimate and cool was the dark and leafy enclosure, it was like they were the only two humans on earth.

They soon stopped at a small enclave where a lone stone statue stood illuminated by a faint garden light. Ati felt like she had just entered one of Pravat's drawings, as if she knew to expect the statue there all along, for she immediately recognized it as the headless torso that appeared in so many of his works. She knew that this was what he had brought her here to see. She looked at him as if to question its meaning, but Pravat was transfixed by the statue as he knelt down close to it, smiling ever so slightly, as if engrossed in some secret satisfaction.

The limestone torso was just over a meter high, its curves round and smooth. The style was primitive, its posture rather stiff, with one arm bent slightly at its side and the other raised forward. What appeared to be a robe hung from where the two arms had also been broken off, draping down around the symmetrical knees. Despite this latter element, the torso's form presented the strange duality of being both clothed and naked, its body oddly androgynous, its shallow bellybutton acting as a central focal point. So diminutive and plain was the figure, it would have been easy to not have noticed it set back in its patch of dumbcanes and orchids like some long ago petrified gnome. How long had it sat there motionless and at seeming peace in its marred muteness? What was its significance to Pravat? Her lover suddenly seemed to be lost in another realm, as if gazing upon the tomb of an old friend. But when Ati finally knelt down next to him, he at last broke from his trance and grabbed her small hand, running it across the statue's chipped chest…

The stone felt warm beneath her palm, its texture smooth despite the time-worn imperfections. She was uncertain of Pravat's intent in moving her hand thus down towards it stomach until she felt the subtle indent of its bellybutton. And then she understood why this statue was so special to Pravat and why it captivated him so. It was an exact replicate of his own form, only in miniature. It was his chest she was feeling, his stomach and hips. Though the contours were greatly simplified and strange in there smallness, there was no denying the uncanny correlation. She pulled her hand from Pravat's in order to lay both on the piece herself…these were his arms in gentle flex. His legs that sprouted softly from its hips…

Pravat looked at Ati and read her comprehension.

“I discovered this when I was still very young,” he whispered to her. “I can't tell you how many times I have come to gaze upon it since. They say it is the oldest image of the Buddha to have been found in Southeast Asia .”

Ati turned to Pravat and felt like she almost wanted to weep when she realized that she was not the only one in this world with a secret companion. Nor was she the only one haunted by some mysterious object. And while she knew she could never fathom the torso's full impact on her lover, she well understood how such things can dominate one's life in a deeply personal manner. Had he seen a corresponding tie between her and the box? Or would she perhaps one day reveal to him the story of her friend? And yet this mysterious entity that loomed here over Pravat's existence—at once guardian and nemesis manifested in one—seemed to Ati to be infinitely more impenetrable and eternal than either her shadowy brother from the sea or the infernal box that he had warned her never to lose.

And from that unforeseen moment of recognition forward, when Ati gazed upon the distracted expression across her lover's face, she was so completely enveloped in a fog of strange wonderment and sorrow, she hardly remembered him finally leading her slowly away through the twisting gardens and back to the boat, or their long and silent journey back down the snaking canal, or disembarking near its end, or the short walk through the city to his house. Her lids had grown heavy with sleepiness by the time that they opened the gate to his yard. She was so drowsy, she didn't even notice the black box still sitting motionless on the table where she had left it. And Pravat had to support her with his arm as they climbed the narrow stairway to his bedroom.

XIII

Ati dreamt that she awoke in pitch blackness that night. Her breath was stifled and her head felt like a weighty rock tumbling wildly end over end through empty space. She punched out her fists and immediately rapped her knuckles against something hard and unmoving. In a panic, she felt all around to find that she was enclosed in a cramped container, her head forced sideways on her shoulder, her knees compressed tightly up against her chest. She screamed out Pravat's name but the sound died instantly against the dense walls. Her stomach was churning as she gasped for air. She was desperately certain that her cruel black prison was sinking through water. The hard wooden walls started to creak from the outside pressure. She thought she could feel the water beginning to seep through the imperceptible cracks and the walls growing slimy with its cold ooze.

She tried to scream again, but the terror clutched about her throat tightly and choked short her breath.

She jumped up with a start. Her lone naked body and the sheets of Pravat's bed were both drenched in sweat. When she put her hand to her moist heaving chest, she found the pearl choker replaced with Pravat's necklace and key.

XIV

She noticed the easel by her bedside still and leapt up to see if he had made another drawing of her. But it only held the same original portrait.

She dressed and came downstairs quickly to look for Pravat but the place was absolutely dead. And it was then that she noticed that the box was missing from the table. In its place was a handwritten note. Ati's stomach sank as she guessed at what the letter might portend. A deep anxiety quaked in her chest as she picked it up. She was shocked to see her mother tongue, the words almost strange in their nearly forgotten familiarity:

My dear Ati,

I wish it could be differently. You do not know how much I wish it could all end so differently…I wanted nothing more than to spend the whole of last night holding your small body safely in my arms. But I was forced to deny myself this last indulgence, knowing that I had many critical matters to attend to. Time is of the essence now and you must heed what I ask as soon as possible. My only hope is that you can one day come to understand how it is your wellbeing alone that guides my every action…I spent half the night trying to track down someone who could transcribe this letter into Acehnese and I simply pray that the core of its meaning can reach through to you. The rest of the night was lost completing the last necessary arrangements…

Ati, the box is gone .

You need never be overshadowed by its sinister existence again. It is not your burden anymore, and you must satisfy yourself in knowing that you now possess the sole key to its contents, which will now remain eternally unknown. If you follow my instructions—and I beg with all of my heart that you do—you may live forever free of that infernal device's threat.

Let me try to explain as best as I can…

For you see, when I was young and in the monkhood, I sought the consul of a very old and venerable monk who traced his lineage back to the family of Luang Pu Thuat. You must understand that I was much more inexperienced then and had only recently encountered the statue I brought you to last night. My emotions were far wilder at that tender age, and the mysterious object hung over my spirit like a nightmare. I felt that, if anyone could offer me insight into its horrible meaning, surely it would be this revered sage.

I still remember the scene vividly: me trembling like a child as I entered his chamber, the room filled with a suffocating haze of incense, the wise old monk sitting near the window with his back to me, the morning light pouring in and around his hunched-over form. When I at last mustered the courage to describe to him what I had found and how it had since haunted me day and night, he turned and motioned me forward. I approached slowly and knelt. And as I was rising from my low bow, I noticed that he had something dangling on a thin cord from his frail hand. It was the same small silver key that now hangs about your neck. And as he extended it to me, his deep and sorrowful eyes smiling, these were the few words he spoke: ‘My son, yours will be a life of unlocking, and for year upon year you will drink the lonesome salts of this toil. Not until you discover that the mystery can only endure when it is safely hidden from view will you cease to taste the salt of tears.' An inscrutable smile crossed his lips as he handed me the key and promptly turned his back once again. And I, too young to comprehend the dire truth behind his prognostication, walked out in bitter disappointment, the key squeezed tightly in my fist.

But how long have I helplessly dwelt on these words since? How often have I cursed their elusive yet indomitable riddle? The statue has become like an old and annoying friend to me by now. I have made a career of trying to complete that ancient headless torso, at times foolishly confident that when I could adequately recreate its dismembered form in my own likeness, I would finally uncover its deeper significance. At other times, the futility of the pursuit would sink me into a bleak and insurmountable depression. Such is the state I was in when I first saw you walk into that shop with the box. And from that very instant, I knew that you, who descended like a meteor from the sky, held the long sought-after answer to my suffering. And I knew that our fates would henceforth be inextricably linked.

You must forgive my lack of forthrightness in our early moments. I simply had no idea how to convey the torrent of emotions that came washing over me. Imagine my terror as I thought to myself, ‘Here is my guardian angel, my deliverer, the being who possesses the one thing I have searched for all my life—so beautiful, so strong and so unassuming—and I am falling more deeply in love with her by the minute.' What was I to do? I wanted to open wide the doors of my heart, but my tongue stuck dumbly in my mouth. The inability to speak with you was at once so painful and yet perfect in a way. Yes, I willing lost myself in our pure and timeless silence. And in the early hours of yesterday morning, in the afterglow of our previous night's bliss, your delicate image still fresh in my mind, I finally found the vision to finish the self-portrait that I had struggled all my life to complete. And as I gazed upon my masterpiece, at once bewildered by and enamored with my achievement, and knowing that none must ever see it, I realized that the only way for you—who were its needed inspiration—the only way that you could have some idea of my accomplished destiny was to see for yourself the statue that had started my whole life's turmoil, the statue that I now secretly knew could be made whole once again.

…Ati was crying heavily by now. Her hand trembled as she drank in each revealing sentence. It was as if she knew in her heart where this was all leading, as if it had been predetermined from the very beginning…

How can I explain that we must never see each other again? The words pierce like a knife. Ati, you must leave Bangkok at once. My very acquaintance poses a tremendous danger to you now. For you see, I have become quite renowned in the world of art and there are some very ill-intentioned people who have taken a special interest in my work. These same deviant collectors, these haters-of-life, who have never seen beyond the deathly pallor of my later sculptures, have come to mistake the hidden purpose of my labors and, if they were to learn that you hold the key to my final work, would stop nothing short of murder to possess it. There is nowhere we could safely hide from them together—parting is the only option. I fear they have already learned of our connection, of the connection between my art and the box. That is why I ask you to flee.

Return home! Return to Palau Weh with the key. It is the only way for there to be any resolution. The only way to keep the foul box and its powerful contents out of their grasp.

There is a packed bag under the table with a plane ticket and an ample amount of cash inside. A driver is waiting outside to take you to the airport. Do not waste any time. Each moment you delay bleeds a drop of precious blood from our everlasting love. Be strong through these final events. Know that, though it will forever torment me to remember you and to realize that we can never hold one another again, that I can never again taste your sweet mouth, wherever my path may now lead me, because of you, for once in my life I am free of my burden and at peace with my fate. And know that you too will one day find peace. Farewell, Ati.

Your loving Pravat

She dropped the letter in pain. Hot tears were pouring down her cheeks.

How could this possibly be the outcome of what had become the greatest fortune of her life? Why had it been plucked from her hands at the very pinnacle of her happiness? Was she forever doomed to suffer loss after tragic loss? Ati sank onto one of the stools, her head buried in her hands, and sobbed uncontrollably. She lifted her face and felt the miniscule key about her neck. Where was Pravat now? Was he in peril…? Did he mean to take his own life…? His words seemed to intimate a thousand possibilities. The one certainty—she would not be there with him.

Ati sucked in a desperate and bitter breath through her flaring nostrils and bit her lip sharply. The absolute helplessness of the situation stoked a dangerous rage in her. She wanted to slit his throat for betraying her so…and yet, as fast as it came, when she released her breath, the flash of murderous anger started to subside. Soon the familiar numbness began to settle over her, washing away all but her sense of defeat. When the last dying trickle of defiance convulsed from her brain, Pravat's words returned to her once more: Each moment you delay bleeds a drop of precious blood from our everlasting love . Why had resignation become so natural to her?

So practiced did she now feel in the act of regret, so used to the self-pity, she began to move through the obvious physical motions thoughtlessly, almost zombie-like. She lifted the small bag unto the table and opened it. There were the ticket and money Pravat mentioned. The bag was also stuffed full with many of the clothes he'd bought her the day before. She zipped the bag tight and walked to the back door.

But then she stopped and set it down and ran up stairs, where she grabbed the drawing of herself from the easel and folded it up. And as she was leaving the bedroom for the last time, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and thought, “Well, there you are…still alive, alone again and looking quite a mess.” She tucked the drawing in the bag when she returned back downstairs.

As she was leaving through the gate, she glanced back on the garden where they had spent their first night. The morning seemed cruel now with its stark omnipotent light. The paper lamps in the trees looked cheap and insubstantial in the glare. And there were the two songbirds from the previous morning, hopping about the stone table diligently, completely unconscious to the grief they caused in Ati's heart.

The driver was outside waiting patiently. He could tell she was in the midst of some terrible sorrow and took her bag and opened the door for her in respectful silence.

And on that long and quiet ride out of the Bangkok 's center toward the airport, Ati felt even more remorse at having to say goodbye to the city. She had quickly grown to love all its noise and madness, its multitude of unknown lives, the ancient river that flowed through its heart, and the forgotten retreats that hid along its web of waterways. Perhaps secretly she had once thought that it would become her final home, where she and her lover might live out the rest of their uneventful romance in utter anonymity. The city was plainly oblivious to the dashing of this dream as it unrolled indifferently before her quivering eye. How could she have been such a fool?

And as Ati sat nervous and alone in the airport, she started to dig through her bag. She found the pearl choker buried at the bottom. She began to count the pearls with her fingers and passersby wondered why tears were streaming so profusely down this solitary young woman's heartbroken face.

And the plane's engines roared in her ears as its wheels lifted from the runway, the rush from her first flight helping to distract from sadness. And eventually the tears ceased to flow. She looked through the small window in astonishment as the city quietly slipped away beneath and disintegrated into an endless patchwork of rice fields. Soon they were over the ocean and her thoughts began to turn to the future, to what her return to Sabang would bring. She could envision her father tearfully and gratefully receiving his prodigal daughter at long last back into his trembling arms. She could envision herself in her old bed that first night, crying and feeling incredibly broken, incredibly alone. She could foresee in the days to follow the neighbors looking down their noses at her disapprovingly as they warned their children to keep far away from her wicked influence. And she could imagine the wild tales that would circulate behind her back. Would she ever tell anyone what amazing events she had lived through? They wouldn't believe her. No, not even if her shadowy friend were to return—and she sincerely doubted he ever would—she wouldn't tell him so much as a word about the secret of her tragic romance…

…But the one thing that Ati could not foresee was that she would one day give birth to a child. For deep inside her tiny womb the delicate form was already taking shape. And years on, as her little son played beneath the stars and moon among the gentle surf, the inhabitants of Sabang would wonder at the mysterious origin of his strange and beautiful name.

EPILOGUE

I must confess that, of my host's three tales, this last one left the gravest impression on my heart. And as I bid my host goodnight and got into the taxi for my hotel, thoroughly soused and wondering what ungodly hour of the morning it was, the sad fate of Ati lingered in my mind. And long afterwards, the mystery of that terrible box, which I now understood to be truly personal in nature, plagued me both day and night.

And on the ride to the airport, as I was inwardly wishing a doleful farewell to the vast and intriguing cityscape that is Bangkok , we got stuck in a traffic jam. As we sat there motionless, I looked out upon the countless faces of the great city's inhabitants and thought, “Perhaps there is good reason Thais call it Krung Thep—the City of Angels . Who among this infinite population might have but the one foot in this world…might actually be a watching spirit in disguise? How well do these half-earthly beings empathize with their charge? Is there any part of their suffering that we ourselves could comprehend? Is their greatest strength, as ours is, also the greatest weakness. Must they too, like Michelangelo's slaves, labor beneath the insupportable weight of their very fabric of being? If only they can deliver us from under the box's shadow, then we might at last be free of its oppressive gravity…” and such were my thoughts before I finally asked the driver what the holdup was. He told me the prime minister's cavalcade was passing in front. I watched the line of black sedans drive by, their little state flags fluttering in the breeze, and I said to myself, “I'm onto you, you scheming fox! It's only a matter of time before the good detective uncovers your devilish plot!”

And for untold months after my safe return, whenever a shipment from Bangkok arrived in my office, I would pry the lid of the container back slowly and carefully, perhaps secretly fearing what I might find hidden inside.