“Didn’t you like Noppawan at all?” he asked with childish vulnerability.
“No,” she replied thoughtfully. “I liked all things about her. I liked her completely. It is hard to believe that anyone should be so wonderfully odd.”
He liked that response exponentially. He knew that she would never say anything so true. “Montreal will be fun. A little bit of Paris and a little bit of New York City.”
“Laos, Nawin, is a little bit of Paris with a lot of dirt poor Thailand.”
“It will be like going to the Thao Suranari fair in Nakhon Ratchasima.” That was one of the largest fairs in Thailand. This thought triggered his memory of a smaller fair in Bangkok.
This avuncular stranger, a member of the parliament and the former governor of Pattaya, had informed Kumpee that the fair held in March was coming to a close this year. This fair, run by government ministries to raise funds for the Red Cross, was near the Parliament in the area called Dusit. Tickets to enter were sold at 200 baht each. The two other brothers—all, like him, boys with layers of manhood like aluminum foil wrapped over the small crumbling pieces of cake that were themselves-did not utter questions. Had Kazem robbed Thai Farmers Bank, Siam Commercial, and Bangkok Bank entirely it wouldn’t have made any difference. The psyche needed a degree of ebullience. This was their respite from worries about survival to which drugs or snookers had been ineffective distractions. A bit of it insulated them from the attitude of doom that would eagerly zip them up into its body bags.
A woman wearing a pointed straw hat, who had a 2-year-old baby cuddled around her neck, thrust herself before them. She solicited them to her table of snake blood refreshments seasoned with dried monkey brain. She was one well-seasoned in salesmanship. She knew the cajolery to lure daredevils who would come to such a fair as she knew the approach to children whom she would sell her krathongs, banana boats of flowers and candles attached to banana leafs and Styrofoam sailed onto the river for good fortune during each Loi krathong festival, or Buddhist rosaries and necklaces to old women during religious holidays.
“ Please come over to my table, boys.” They smiled and came. “ I know you. You think I don’t but I do. I can see into hearts-hearts wanting to be men, wanting to end boyhood. You’ve heard those stories about men who became more than that from drinking a bit of this. The stories aren’t true. They are stupid. Nobody has ever done anything like that; but the real parts of the stories are gaining courage and strength. My husband was in his teens when I saw him for the first time doing what you are about to do. I watched him the way those girls over there are watching you now. Anybody would have second thoughts about this. Anybody would. It tastes horrible because it is strong in courage and strength for those with the courage to drink it. If you can do this you will never run away from anything again. Instead, you will have it on the run. This is your only time to conquer your fears and do something naughty while the police are sleeping. Whatever you do, make sure that you put a few coins in the box to help the Red Cross.” She pointed at the plastic box at a distant corner of the table. While Suthep inserted a few baht into the hole she directed herself to Kazem. “Are those two your brothers?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I know you won’t make them ashamed of you. It’s just fifty baht each. Look. People are staring at you. You’ve got to do it. Drink!”