Степан Мазур – Tai (*in english) (страница 4)
“Come, Tai.” The monk jumped on easier than could be expected from someone of his age. He started the engine—and handed Tai the helmet.
He could accept it. Or run away. He pondered over this choice for a few seconds.
The monk’s age was hard to tell. He could equally well be in his forties, fifties, or sixties. A lean man, smiling with a full row of obviously false teeth, shaved-headed, he had the eyes of someone who’d seen the world. That was all Tai could tell from his appearance. But this old man wasn’t scary. His presence—and this steady blue light coming from him—was calming.
“Where are we going?” Tai asked, taking the helmet.
“Wat Ko Sirey. Temple of Buddha. Treatment. Food. Shadow. Sleep. Rest.”
Tai climbed on behind the monk, squeaking at how hot the seat was. Even in the shade, the motorcycle couldn’t escape the scorching sun. Thailand had over three hundred sunny days in a year; and each such day was as tropical as it could get.
“Put up with that. It will cool down.”
Tai clasped the helmet. The motorcycle took off at a leisurely pace, entering the heavy traffic on Chalermprakiat Road, unusually crowded as people were making their way to the hospital: to get their wounds treated, to recognize the dead, or to offer their help as volunteers.
Dalai Tisein often had to ride on the sidewalk to bypass the jams. Left-hand traffic was one of the things Tai still hadn’t got used to in this country, but the monk seemed to know what he was doing. The motorcycle was slipping deftly through the jams formed by the vehicles making way for ambulances and military trucks.
Soon Tai’s head began to swim—on top of the itching skin, dry mouth, and nausea he already had. In fear of falling off, he tightened his grip around the monk’s waist and closed his eyes, no longer watching the road or thinking about their destination.
Chapter 4 – Old Temple, New Life
Dalai Tisein took Tai to a temple that looked abandoned and shabby. Not a tourist attraction, it was mainly used by local people. The temple stood on a separate island, Ko Sirey, connected to Phuket by a pedestrian-only wooden bridge.
The two of them had to leave the bike to cross it on foot. Spotting a parking lot next to the bridge, Tai guessed no vehicles were allowed onto the smaller island. Not even two-wheelers.
The walking distance of about a mile drained much of Tai’s strength. But that was not the final ordeal. The temple stood on a hill, clearly visible from a distance. To reach the main entrance, the boy had to climb a crazy lot of stairs, each broad enough for two riders to pass by each other without touching. No real riders or horses there, though; only stray dogs sleeping on the stairs that would often turn left or right, following the shape of a stone dragon’s snake-like back. The dragon’s head greeted the boy at the beginning of his climb, while its once-splendid tail was topping the stairs. Now the giant statue was a puny shadow of its former glory; not painted in a long while and losing pieces of plasterwork.
Ascending the stairs, the boy felt like he was about to drop dead from exhaustion. Dalai Tisein was not even puffing, as if he’d soared to the top like a bird. “Easy, boy, easy,” he said, giving Tai an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “You’ll get used. Breathe. Just breathe.”
He showed Tai the example of proper breathing: inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, working your lower belly.
Tai looked around. The temple entrance was guarded by once-gilded, almost life-size human statues. A long time ago, these things probably used to look like golden Buddhas warding evil spirits off this place, but all gold had been eaten away by rains, winds, and lack of maintenance, exposing the grayish-white stone beneath.
Nonetheless, Tai could see a faint glow come from the figures. As if they were night lamps.
“They… they’re glowing,” he said, startled.
The monk smiled. “Oh, really? Good. It means they’re still working.”
“I thought only people had glow.”
“No. Some… some things have it, too. They acquire it through rituals and prayers.”
Tai looked up at the monk. “What things? Dragons? Totems? Why are they here?”
“Just guards. Nothing more. When we have enough money, we’ll put a warrior statue between them. And perform proper rituals to give this place the power of healing and protection.”
“Protection? From whom?”
“From evil. This world has a lot of evil that never sleeps, unlike the good that must be awakened. That’s why we need a warrior.”
“A warrior, wow. That’ll be cool.”
“Why mind the statues?” Dalai Tisein dismissed. “Real dragons live inside humans.”
“Inside? How do they even fit in?”
“Later, Tai,” the monk said, smiling. “Now have rest.”
While climbing the stairs, Tai was surprised by the complete absence of tourists in the temple area. The place seemed abandoned by everyone but the stray dogs sprawling in the shadows cast by mangroves and palm trees, and on the benches
There was no one but an elderly sexton meeting Tai and the monk on top of the stairs. The sexton was selling the sacred lotus flowers—a proper sacrifice for Buddha. Like in many Thai temples, you didn’t have to pay to enter the building, but you could buy lotus petals or incense sticks to offer them as a sacrifice if you wished.
Tai’s legs gave way. He grabbed at the dragon’s tail to keep balance. Seeing the boy’s exhaustion, Dalai Tisein squatted down to remove his shoes.
“No, please,” Tai protested. “I can do it myself.” He even bowed his head, but it went so dizzy he barely avoided a fall. His fever, physical strain, and the tropical sun were a strength-depleting combo.
“Breathe,” the monk told him, then removed his own shoes.
As they entered the temple, Tai’s eye got caught by a large bell. He couldn’t help but ring it, producing a melodious sound. He turned to the monk hastily, realizing he hadn’t asked for permission, but Dalai Tisein’s face showed approval. “Good. It drives evil spirits away. The sexton’s too old to ring it every hour as he should.”
“Then I can do it.”
“Good idea. But first have rest. You’ll need your strength.”
Once shielded from the scorching sun by the roof, Tai wiped sweat off his forehead. The temple’s inside was pleasantly cool, the mountain wind fanning its walls. He saw many altars with sacrifices. The temple had no crematorium and hence performed no funerals. An occasional visitor would only come here to pray, or to take some nice photos from the height.
“One day,” Dalai Tisein said, “we’ll have many monks here. We’ll drag a big stone up here and cover it with gold to attract tourists.”
“An ice cream tray can serve us better. It’s so hot here.”
The monk smiled. “Yes. We can use that, too. But a temple’s purpose is not to make money. It’s to serve.”
“Serve who?”
“Buddha.”
Half-lying behind the altars was a golden statue of Buddha. Certainly it was not made of pure gold; just painted in that color, and quite a long time ago. The paint was peeling off in places, with deep cracks webbing all over the statue’s heels and toes.
The figure was rather large, and glowing much brighter than the stair dragon, or the statues outside. Tai walked up and down along the Buddha, struggling to fathom where that glow was coming from. He discovered that the figure was about fifteen feet long and nine feet tall, but no source of light hidden behind it.
“This one’s glowing, too. Even stronger,” he told the monk who looked back at him closely and then spoke.
“Objects of prayers have their own auras. Like trees. Like plants. Like animals. Like any living thing. Sacred places, sacred statues, sacred objects. Many things have more life to them than people think they have.”
“Why can I see it?”
“Because you… you’ve come to have more life than other people.”
Dalai Tisein’s accent was almost gone as he said these words that got carved into Tai’s memory, never to be forgotten.
The temple’s inside was full of Thai religious symbols. Elephants. Flowers. Buddhas. Small paintings portraying the glorious deeds of Buddhist heroes. Old, dusty, and webbed, these colorful pictures still reminded Tai of his favorite comic books. But before he could make sense of the story, his contemplation was interrupted.
A young novice approached Dalai Tisein with a tray that had two cups of steaming liquid. Tai knew just too well how different the local tea was from what people drank in Russia. He hated the violet-blue stuff the hotel would try to pass off as their morning tea. The hot liquid in these cups also looked nothing like green or black tea.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Herbs. Rest. Cool,” Dalai Tisein said slowly as if he struggled to remember the words.
Tai took the cup without arguing. The smell was weird, but he was really, really thirsty, so he gulped the herbal drink down. The hot liquid burned his lips, gums, and the inside of his cheeks, but he didn’t care as long as it quenched his thirst. He felt like his dried body was about to crumble to hot, squeaky sand—if it weren’t for the drink washing it to keep it together.