Степан Мазур – Tai (*in english) (страница 10)
Tai had seen
Grabbing his helmet, Tai sat behind his mentor, wrapping his arms around the monk’s waist. His hands were bandaged. The mentor had soaked boxing wraps in aloe, which turned them black, and wrapped them around the boy’s hands to expedite healing on his scraped knuckles, preventing infection. Tai really shouldn’t have struck the pillar with full force only a few days into his practice.
“For every punch, there are consequences,” the mentor told the boy, instead of lamenting. He actually liked his student’s perseverance; he’d only step in when Tai’s effort began to harm himself.
Dalai Tisein started the motorcycle and immediately accelerated in second gear. The old man rarely shifted gears, probably fearful of losing his slippers to any abrupt foot movement.
So the boy held back his scooter advice. Poverty isn’t a vice.
They moved slowly along the designated two-wheeler lane, riding almost at the roadside, allowing anyone who wished to pass. In the early morning, these were mainly three-wheeled tuk-tuks, where a mobile mini-kitchen had been attached to a motorcycle instead of a sidecar, with a canopy stretched over it protected the vendor from rain and sun.
The canopy was stretched directly over the metal rods welded to the motorcycle and the makeshift sidecar. It was a home-built solution, yet no Thai police officer ever stopped them. They were neither a traffic obstruction nor a danger to their riders. Why fine those who worked and survived as best they could? The government preferred to stay out of it, lenient toward off-the-books incomes. Their earners did pay some taxes, after all.
The motorcycle moved unhurriedly, giving Tai plenty of time to take in the surroundings. Thailand was mourning its dead. The spirit houses, found near every café, restaurant, home, and office, were overflowing with candles and flowers placed as offerings alongside photos and prayer sheets. Temples were open around the clock. The overloaded island airport mostly received military planes. All charter flights were canceled, and local flights were diverted to the nearest airport of Krabi, two hundred miles away from Phuket.
Planes were continuously flying overhead. The arriving military and rescue teams were restoring order on the island, cleaning up the affected beaches, and clearing debris. Tai wasn’t aware of these efforts but noticed that the locals’ usual
The old monk knew that all locals had voluntarily shortened their daytime breaks. The tsunami aftermath had shifted their focus towards the salvation of soul rather than bodily needs, making the island’s temples unusually crowded. All except Wat Ko Sirey, where two novices and the sexton were in no rush to conduct proper rituals for everyone who came to pray to Buddha. Few were willing to take the long hike to get there.
As they traveled, Tai noted a lot of Muslims among the local commuters. Women in hijabs were a common sight, speeding along on motorbikes, browsing roadside shops, and riding pickup taxis. These pickups often had plank benches installed in the back to transport more people; some had a canopy shielding the passengers from the sun. Safety measures like seat belts were absent, but the police didn’t interfere unless the driving was reckless.
Tai could’ve never distinguished Muslim women from Thai Buddhist women if not for their specific attire—the hijab. They worked, raised, and educated their children just like the local women. It was even harder to tell Muslim men apart from Thai Buddhist men since they wore the same plain clothing.
Just short of the Sarasin Bridge connecting Phuket to the mainland in the north, Dalai Tisein turned towards the coast. Exiting the island at that time was problematic; a checkpoint was set up checking documents of all non-military and non-police transport, causing a substantial queue. The monk was well aware of that, keeping in touch with various parts of the island during these tough times. He chose not to risk taking Tai, a foreign boy without ID, beyond Phuket’s borders.
Parking his motorbike in a palm tree’s shade, the mentor stood on the seat, picked a couple of coconuts from the tree, and briskly walked towards the sea. Along the way, he poked a hole in each coconut with his folding knife and handed one to his student, albeit without a straw.
“Drink. The Kingdom’s sun will always dry you out. Whenever you get the chance, drink as much fluid as you can.”
“Thank you.” Tai accepted the gift reluctantly. To him, coconut milk tasted like soapy water. He only drank it because it was excellent at quenching thirst.
Tai loved scraping out the coconut flesh afterward, but reaching it was a challenge with the small hole the mentor had made. Asking for the knife to use with his bandaged hands felt awkward, so he decided to wait for a better time.
Mai Khao Beach stretched along the coastline for eleven miles. The first thing that struck Tai, after tossing his empty coconut into a nearby trash can at the parking lot, was the complete absence of tourists.
It wasn’t just the early hour; the beach was deserted and wild, with no umbrellas or vendors. No jet skis zipping along for amusement. Along the sandy stretch to the rocks, as far as the eye could see, Tai only spotted a lone fisherman. He’d cast his rod into the incoming waves or throw a net into the receding waves, pulling fish into a basket at his side, or catch shrimp with a small, handy net and stuff them into the basket as well. The best catches would soon be delivered to nearby restaurants; the rest would make his breakfast.
As the sun began to rise above the horizon, the morning freshness dispelled the lingering gloom from the tsunami’s aftermath. The mentor walked to the sea, wet his toes, and took a deep breath. “It’s going to be sunny all day,” he declared, then briskly trotted south.
Tai didn’t even bat an eye. Dalai Tisein’s weather predictions were better than those from the meteorological center.
“I’d rather take a walk,” he dropped. “The national park is at the end of this beach, and we’re at the very start. Let’s test your endurance on the sand.”
“Are we walking eleven miles?” Tai asked, not particularly thrilled by the challenge.
Trudging that distance in light sandals was unappealing. Tai had quickly ditched the sneakers he was accustomed to from his home country. Good for running, they became stifling and overheated in this climate, feeling like walking on hot coals. And without socks, sand got inside.
The mentor had trained him to get around the temple barefoot, or in sandals for longer distances. Tai accepted this local custom, but the temple had no spare footwear in his size. He had to wear sandals a size too large.
The markets these days were not well-stocked. Trucks loaded with goods often languished at military cordons. A state of emergency had been declared across the country, all entertainment events canceled as Thailand mourned its losses. The Kingdom entered a period of recovery.
“And the same distance back,” Dalai Tisein added with a smile. “I’m not about to waste extra money on park tickets for both of us. Funds are tight.”
“Are we sneaking in there?” the boy wondered.
The monk raised an eyebrow. “Sneaking in? I was born long before they cordoned this place off in 1992. What right do they have to charge for access to a public place? We’ll enter from the sea, through the back door. Of course, that’s if you still have the energy to marvel at the pines.”
His attention was soon captured by a large military airplane, painted dark green, coming in for a landing somewhere at the end of the beach, near the cliffs. Tai realized the airport was very close to the beach. He’d never been into watching airplanes, but here by the Sirinat Park, they seemed to take off and land right overhead.
But no one was waiting for him there. That dampened his spirits again.
His disappointment was immediate. The local pines were nothing like those back home. Instead of coniferous needles, these tall trees had deceptive horsetail-like
Approaching a casuarina, Tai inhaled deeply, hoping to catch that scent reminding him of the New Year celebrations. But the scent was different as well. Moreover, the tree didn’t look much like a pine because of its trunk shape and broad branches.