“So I think we set Mr. Beauchamp aside for a few hours and just do the town.”
“Are you sure?” she said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Where is your stuff?”
“I have an overnight bag with me. I left it with the concierge. My big suitcase is still at Ayutthaya, unfortunately.”
“We’ll deal with that later. Now let’s get going. By the way, if you’re in Bangkok tomorrow, we have been invited to a very special party, a moving in party for a house, complete with blessing by priest.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said.
We had a really fine day, one I will always remember with fondness, despite how it ended. Far from the Chaiwongs, we reverted to our old relationship, sort of girlfriends, despite the difference in our ages. I think we both felt freer than we had since we’d arrived. We marveled at The Grand Palace with its Emerald Buddha, Wat Po with its huge reclining Buddha covered in gold, Wat Arun, or the temple of dawn, its every surface covered with decorations made from broken Chinese porcelain. We hired our very own longtail boat to tour the Chao Phyra and the klongs, stopping to see the magnificent royal barges that are still used by the king on ceremonial occasions, and watching the antics of children playing in the water.
We ate Thai green curry and sticky rice, served to us from a sampan on one of the klongs, the woman cooking it on a little burner right before our eyes. We had gat yang, or grilled chicken marinated in coconut milk, garlic, and coriander, at a food stall in a street market, along with som tarn, a spicy green papaya salad. We had pork dumplings— sakhoo sai moo—further along the way. Then we finished it all up with khao taen, rice cakes rolled in palm sugar, for dessert. We laughed at our efforts to make ourselves understood, at the curious questions from minicab drivers—like “How much do you weigh?”—and we just enjoyed being tourists for several hours.
Our official Bangkok tour came to an end at Wat Ma-hathat, the largest and oldest wat in the city. As we exited the gate, we found ourselves on a really crammed little side street. There was a market on one side and across the way many shops selling everything from shoes to medicinal ingredients. On the sidewalk, several vendors were displaying small objects that were being very carefully considered by several people.
“What are those things?” Jennifer said to me. We went over for a closer look.
“I think they’re amulets,” I said, looking around. “You know, I think we have happened upon an amulet market.” I took a couple of steps toward the place, already reaching into my handbag to get Will Beauchamp’s amulets out. But then I stopped. No, I told myself. This is Jennifer’s day, not Will’s. She needs to have fun, to forget the fight she’s had with Chat, to just hang out.
“What?” she said. I looked at her. “I know you’re hesitating about something.”
“No, I’m not,” I said.
“Yes, you are. Tell me.”
“It’s nothing, really. Will Beauchamp sent two or three amulets to his wife, and the place made me think of that.”
“So let’s go,” she said, heading into the market. “Do you have them with you?”
“We really don’t have to do this now,” I said. “Why don’t we go for tea at the hotel or something?”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You know you want to. You’ve got them with you, haven’t you?”
“Okay, yes. I’m looking for something resembling these,” I said, showing them to her.
“It’s hopeless,” Jen said a few minutes later. “There must be hundreds of stalls here, millions of amulets. How would we ever know where these came from?” She was right. We were in a covered market that seemed to sprawl over at least a city block. Everywhere you looked, stalls were piled high with amulets. The aisles were crowded with people, even monks, carefully considering the amulets.
“I agree with you. It’s hopeless,” I said. “I have a picture of a monk, too, but every stall seems to have one of those. I guess it’s the monk who blessed the amulets. I think hopeless is the word, all right.”
“What you need amulet for?” a woman at the stall nearby said. “For stomach?” she said, rubbing hers. “Eyes? What you want?” She held out several amulets.
“Have you seen any like this?” I said, handing over Will’s amulet. She looked at it for a moment.
“This no good,” she said.
“What is not good about it?” I said.
“Bad,” she said.
“Bad yes, but how bad?” I said, trying to make myself understand.
“Very bad,” she said.
“Not how,” I said. The woman looked perplexed. “What is wrong with this? Why do you say this is bad?”
“It is… I don’t know English word,” she said. “Buddha not do this.”
“Do what?”
“Stand on world,” she said. “Buddha for peace, not to stand on world.” I looked at the amulet. It was true: the Buddha was standing on a globe.
“What about this one?” I said, taking the broken pieces and more or less fitting them together.
“Bad also,” she said. “Buddha with alms bowl, not world.” I peered at it. “Come,” she said. “I show you.” We went into her stall, and she went through piles of the amulets and placed a few on the table in front of us.
“Buddha has maybe sixty hands and feet,” she said. “You understand me?”
“No,” we said in unison.
“This is Buddha stop flood,” she said, standing with both palms facing up and out, then pointing to an amulet that showed that. “This Buddha calling for rain,” she said, standing with both arms down at her sides, palms against her thighs. “Buddha sit also, also lie down like this. She leaned sideways and put her right hand under her head. ”This waiting for Nirvana. Stop fighting is Buddha sitting down, right hand like this,“ she said putting her right hand up with the index finger pointing down and the left hand flat. You understand?” she said. “Many different hands and feet of Buddha.”
“I understand,” I said.
“This one,” she said, pointing to the broken one. “Like giving alms. Hands in front to hold bowl. See this one.” I looked at the amulet she showed us. It did have Buddha standing with his hands cupped in front of him, holding a bowl. “Now you here,” she said, pointing to mine. “Buddha holds world. You see?” I saw.
“Now this one,” she said, pointing to the unbroken amulet, “Buddha standing on world. Buddha not stand on world. This is…” she paused. “No have English word.”
“Blasphemy?” Jennifer said.
“Yes,” she said, pointing to Jennifer. “That is word. Very bad. Where you get this?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “A friend had them.”
“Bad for friend,” she said.
“Perhaps it was,” I said. “Thank you for helping me. Would you happen to know this monk?” The woman looked at the picture.
“Sure,” she said. “Everybody here know.”
“Can you tell me where I could find him?”
“Come,” she said, beckoning us. “Come,” she said again, as we hesitated. We followed her up and down the aisles until we were near the back. She stopped in front of a stall and called out. A rather large man, built like a wrestler, came out, spoke to her for a moment, and then led us into the back of his stall. A very elderly man sat there. I took a quick peek at the photo and then back to him, and I suppose it might have been the same person, but I really couldn’t tell. If so, the photo had been taken a very long time ago.
“Is this the same person?” I asked the woman.