"Again for a while—a few weeks or so," said Nawin in jest but seriously believing that there was comfort in friends and acquaintances alike remaining strangers.
"Wanting to have fun with a Laotian girl?"
"Do you have one in mind for me?"
"I will sell my sister at a special discount for you if it doesn't cause more war injuries." These were mere words, flippant wisps of air to fill the vapid moments of time while confined with undesirable others on a train. They were of no more serious intent than the earlier conversation but the idea of selling a member of a family, or selling them out, was something too close to home. It was repugnant enough to make this paragon of honesty transformed grotesquely into an inordinate abuser—such were the fathoms of childhood trauma that a facetious play with words meant that devils could be made instantly from gods, and that gods were made from the muck of childhood sensitivities like any sand or snowman. He wanted to end the conversation abruptly but needed to find a graceful and amicable exit that would keep the one disliked clueless of this fact.
"You don't say? No, probably not. I've become spoiled by taking whiter meat."
"I saw your marriage ring when you first began babbling. Are you married to a European?"
"No, a Thai woman who is darker than us both. That is another story."
"Why did you marry her if she is so dark and ugly and likes to hit on you?"
He became more conscious of the barely bearable itchiness under the cast. It seemed to him that it would be a handy excuse for absconding to his bunk. And there he could rummage through his bag for a hanger from which to scratch with.
"Don't keep me waiting all night for an answer."