It is about ten in the evening when I return to the Old Man’s Club, where my mother has been in charge. She is nowhere to be seen, but many of the customers are wrinkling their noses in judgmental style.
I trace the aroma to the covered area in the yard where Nong is sitting. She does something furtive with her hands when she sees me, but it is too late.
“I thought you were on a diet.”
“I am. It includes fruit.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t just say fruit. I bet it says citrus fruit or something. You were eating apples only a few days ago.”
“Fruit is fruit. What’s the difference?”
I decide to play this delicate moment artfully and put on a charming smile as I approach. Despite her suspicions, she responds to my affectionate peck on the cheek and is too slow to stop my left hand as it makes a grab for the odiferous yellow splotch on her plate.
“Thieving brat.”
I munch cheerfully. Ah, durian, its exquisite melancholy decadence, its haunting viscous sensuality, its naked raw unashamed primeval pungency, its triumphantly morbid allure-oh, never mind, farang, no way you’ll understand durian without spending half a lifetime out here.
“It’s got to be the most fattening fruit in the world. Whatever farang concocted your diet has probably never even heard of it.”
“There’s an e-mail,” she says, not without a tone of relief. “He’s going to be delayed at least another week. Some case he’s got to be in the States for.”
May Buddha forgive me, I’d forgotten all about Superman. I rush to the PC and check the e-mail.
My dearest Nong and Sonchai, I’m so terribly sorry, but I’m going to be delayed. The Court of Appeals just informed me that they’ve moved one of my big three cases forward for hearing over the next few days. I’m representing one of the firm’s biggest clients and there’s just no way I can avoid being here for it. I’m going to come as soon as it’s over-and I mean as soon. I’m keeping a bag packed and I’m going straight from the office to the airport the minute the case ends. I’m burning up about you two. My god, Nong… My god (I love you too, Sonchai, even if we’ve never met).
I’m mulling this over (he said: I love you, but then he added too) when all of a sudden everyone freezes because two strangers have walked into the bar.
Well, not strangers exactly. America is certainly a tribal society, isn’t it? The effect they have on the old codgers in the bar makes me think of a couple of Cheyenne coming around a turning in a forest to find a band of Crow having lunch. Hudson and Bright and all the customers hitch their pants simultaneously. Hudson turns away from the wrinkled hippies with a sour look and stares me in the eye.
“Hello, Detective. Remember us?” Hudson says, almost without moving his lips, as hard, gaunt, and haunted as ever.
“Songai Kolok. You were businessmen at the time.”
“And you were an American resident with a green card. Let’s cut to the chase. You know why we’re here?”
Wordlessly I lead them out back. Hudson wrinkles his nose, and Bright sniffs ostentatiously. (That’s a third-world stink if ever there was one.)
“Mother, these are the two CIA spies I met in Songai Kolok, when they were pretending to be businessmen in the telecommunications industry,” I explain in Thai.
Have I told you before that in our primitive society we still have courtesy? My mother takes my introduction as a signal that these two men are higher up the pyramid than she. She stands and wais them mindfully. Hudson, I think, wishes he had a hat to lift, and Bright is confused. He thinks about a wai, then gives up.
“You mean they lied to you?” my mother asks, still maintaining the polite smile.
“Lying is what they do. They’re spies.”
“How disgusting.” Nodding politely at Hudson. “Do they speak Thai?”
“Not a word.”
Returning Bright’s respectful nod with a beam. “Does the Colonel know about them? Are we going to bump them off?”
“Mother, please, that would not be a good idea. The CIA is quite powerful.”
“I don’t like the way that young one keeps sniffing at my durian. Maybe I’ll bump him off myself if he keeps doing that.” In English: “Gentlemen, do sit down, my house is your home.”
I see that Bright is not at all certain that it would be safe to sit in a place with such a pervasive odor. Bravely he pulls up a chair, though, and Hudson does the same. Hudson has not failed to notice that he is in the presence of an attractive Thai woman of about his age group. (I see a terrible bitterness that he would be prepared to melt down and recycle for the right lady, maybe a womanly Asian with courtesy and gentleness? Could this be her?)
“The older one fancies you.”
“D’you want me to seduce him, find out how much he knows?”
“You’re supposed to be retired.”
“The young one really thinks he’s the bee’s knees, doesn’t he? Shall we set one of the girls onto him? I don’t think he’ll look like that when we show him the video of his performance with his pants down.”
I have an expression of filial adoration on my face. “That’s really not a bad idea. Is room ten still rigged up?”
“Yes it is, despite your puritanical objections.”
Explanatory note: Dear Nong has never forgiven me for refusing to join a syndicate that broadcasts pay-by-the-minute porn over the Net, usually without the consent or knowledge of the erection owner. The secret digital camera was all rigged up and ready to go when I found out and put a stop to it.
“Who shall we ask? What is his profile?”
“Easily aroused, good basic performer with not much imagination, probably can keep it up for the full twenty minutes if he needs to, a jaw-grinder on the home stretch, a triumphalist, resents it if the lady doesn’t climax. We don’t want submissive, he’d only get arrogant and contemptuous. Someone smart and subtle who will drive him crazy: Oh, I hope you’ll return soon, I get so horny when I don’t come, shall I get you some Viagra next time?”
“Nat?”
“She’s so flighty, but I agree she’s got the talent. In the right mood she would be perfect. I’ll see if she’s around.” In English: “Excuse me, gentlemen, I must get back to work.”