Lost in the myriad dimly lit trails of his own thoughts, he at last returned and went back to his bed of clothes. He smoothed them out. He made them even. He thought that he might be reprimanded about leaving the door open for insects to fly in. It was to his satisfaction but it probably wouldn’t be to theirs and these brothers might easily awaken from the dogs that could be heard a block away. He got up and shut both the door and the window. Then, for a few minutes, he listened to the howling of dogs muffled through the closed door. For a half hour his positions changed restlessly on the wad of clothes. He thought of the postcard pictures of temples and palaces; of possibly being a money collector on the city busses, standing on a step and hanging out of the continually opened door of a green bus; of—
“What a pathetic existence. You haven’t even paid any rent on this room. Gifts can be taken back, you know. You could be thrown out at any whim: Kazem’s, the girlfriend’s, her father who might hate him enough to kick you out. You have no money or jobs. What will you do?”
“I thought that you weren’t coming here.”
“Here?”
“To Bangkok.”
“Did I say that?” it asked for the first time in a tone that was introspective and self-conscious.
“You said it. If you make yourself out to be this monster of truths I can’t see how you can lie like this.”
“I was with you earlier in a less bright, more murky form of a dream when you were anxious that you hadn’t gotten any privacy to fly your kite. You didn’t seem to remember quoting me then.”
It did not like the merit of its own veracity scrutinized. It turned away and paused. It scratched one leg against another thoughtfully the way one might a scalp. Jatupon wondered for a moment if the insect would disappear wordlessly from the weight of it’s own waning confidence but there was no chance of that. It reasserted itself, attempting to discard its solemn self-interrogations for a more august posture and attitude.
“You would be the aimless kinetic movements of other dust just like your kind if it wasn’t for me giving you consciousness and a soul. You impudent little dummy, you should not speak to your ajarn this way. Your blood only has worth as the nutrients of my posterity. That is its purpose. If you become so calculating and crafty with me I’ll reevaluate our relationship.” One of its arms reached over and caressed his skin. “At a distance,” it said, “the brownness makes it look as solid as a rock. I forget that it is so tender. Your naivete also seems so obdurate that I often forget the self-serving and disingenuous muck underneath it all.” It brought back its arm, opened its mouth widely, and spat at the boy. “Here have an early Songkran,” it said. Songkran was the New Year’s water festival in the hottest month of April. The month was really March of the year 2445 according to the Thai Buddhist calendar. “I come and go by the dictates of my own intelligent, restless brooding. I move from one rock to another hoping to get satisfaction or at least a reprieve from dissatisfaction. I, an intelligent being, must delude myself that the composite of rocks that make up this planet are something other than hardened shells of dirt and that I, wandering from one rock to another, am really living experiences instead of hallucinating pleasurable sensations for my self to stay sane. Only seeing other life forms scrambling around the rocks to be my appetizers engender me with purpose. It paused. “There is nothing too peculiar in me wandering around in contradictory paths. All intelligent creatures are the same. Boredom drives them to reshape their environment to serve their petty and selfish goals. This might be entertaining for higher creatures but it’s an absolute curse for the highest.” It wiggled its face and then pointed with an arm. “I must relieve your mind of worry. As they say, ignorance is bliss. You have little risk of finding boredom so insanely strong even if you stay bound to noodles all your life. Boredom makes me curious. I want to know many things. I want to know about you boys.”