The Elephant People

The American in suite 505 of the Royal Cliff Hotel woke in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep. He thought about calling room service to order nasi goreng -- fried rice with an egg on top -- but then he realized the restaurant would be closed this late. He lit a cigarette and went out on the veranda overlooking the Gulf of Siam. The hotel was located on a hill a mile or so outside the beach resort of Pattaya and he could see bright lights reflecting against a low overcast sky. The little town that never sleeps, he thought. The perfect place for me.

The cigarette tasted awful and he tossed it over the veranda rail. He went to the phone and punched in a three-digit number.

"It's me," he said, leaning against the wall. "Did I wake you?"

He listened to a sleepy female voice.

"Sorry. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep for some damn reason."

He fiddled with the draw string on his pajama bottom.

"I don't have any sleeping pills." He paused to listen, then smiled before he said: "You're my sleeping pill."

He seated himself in a rattan chair and nodded as he listened. "Don't get Buddhist on me. Slip into some clothes and come to my room." He drummed his fingers on the coffee table. "Okay, I'll come to your room."

His bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown. "Why not?"

He switched the phone to his other ear. "I'm hungry anyway. Let's go to town and get something to eat."

A moment later he said: "You're not being very cooperative. You want me to eat all alone?"

He listened for a long time and shook his head. "All right, go back to sleep. We'll have lunch tomorrow." He quickly added: "Or I should say today. You know what I mean."

He stood up and brushed a cigarette ash from his pajama top as he listened. "Uh-huh. You're driving me crazy and you know it, don't you?"

He hung up and smiled, mumbling under his breath. He strolled into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. To hell with shaving, he thought. No one who matters will see me in the middle of the night.

After dressing, he left the suite and took the elevator to the hotel lobby, which was deserted except for an Indian man at the front desk.

"I don't suppose your elephant rides into town are available this late?" he asked the night clerk.

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. Can you get me a taxi?"

"I will telephone immediately."

The American took a seat in a rattan chair to wait. He had decided to stay at the Royal Cliff specifically because they offered elephant rides as a unique form of transportation into town. This was for the benefit of tourists since elephants were no longer used for transportation by local people as in the old days. Miniature cars called tuk-tuks had replaced elephants to get around, but the animals were still used to move timber in logging operations. Thais called the huge pachyderms "the elephant people" to endow them with a status roughly equal to humans -- a habit the American found quite endearing. He loved elephants. The creatures were known for their intelligence and loyalty, traits that were sadly lacking in many of the people he knew.

At three in the morning Pattaya was bustling. The American walked past rows of street stalls, intoxicated by the odor of strange food cooking in large woks. As sleep-deprived as he was, he experienced a sense of unreality as if the scene was from a dream he once had about the mysteries of Asia. He stopped beside a middle-aged woman dressed in a black silk outfit and watched her flip the frying food every few seconds.

"Taste good?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled, showing gold fillings in her front teeth.

He took out his wallet and removed an ornately-printed bill displaying the likeness of the King of Thailand. It was worth about two dollars U.S. and he dangled it in front of the woman's face.

She scooped a large portion of the meat and vegetables onto a plastic plate and then added a pile of steamed rice. At the nearest bar the American bought a bottle of beer and carried everything down to the beach. He sat down in the sand, unwrapped the chopsticks and took a bite of the meat. It was squid and it tasted delicious cooked with garlic, hot peppers and ginger. Except for the onions, he couldn't identify any of the vegetables, but they were as good as the squid.

After he finished eating, he sipped the beer and looked around the beach. A few days earlier he had seen a young woman carrying a mattress on her back as she made her way along the beachfront road. In all likelihood she was simply moving from one apartment to another, but in a town known for prostitution, she was a sight that inspired jokes in every bar -- the stereotyped hooker ready for action under the nearest palm tree.

Near the water's edge a man squatted in the peculiar way that Asians sit without a chair. Curious, the American wandered down the beach to take a closer look. The man smoked a clove cigarette and stared at the ocean. He had dark syrupy eyes and disheveled hair sticking out from beneath a frayed cap.

"Can't sleep?"

The man looked up at him. "I go fishing soon."

"You have a boat?"

"Small boat. You like go fishing?"

"I'm not much of a fisherman."

The man grinned. "I protect you from pirates."

He looked suspiciously like a pirate himself. "What pirates?"

"Plenty in the islands," the man said. "But I have gun."

All at once the American got an idea. "How much do you charge for sightseeing?"

"One hundred bhat half day."

"No fishing, just sightseeing."

"One hundred bhat."

"How small is your boat?"

"Big enough four people."

"I want to hire your boat. I'll bring a lady friend today at noon."

"You pay now."

The American shook his head. "I pay at noon."

"How I know you come? I miss whole day fishing."

The American took a ten-bhat bill out of his wallet and gave it to the fisherman. "I'll pay the rest at noon. Where is your boat?"

The man motioned in a general westerly direction.

"Can you bring it here?"

"No dock."

"We'll swim out and climb aboard."

The man nodded.

"Don't forget, noon today."

"I remember."

The American went to a bar across the street from the beach, telephoned a taxi and ordered another beer while he waited.

At the Royal Cliff he rode the clear-glass elevator to the third floor, noticing that the hotel beach was illuminated by night lights. He left the elevator and ambled down the hallway to room 311. Looking around, he rapped gently on the door.

"It's me," he whispered. "Wake up."

A moment later a young Asian woman opened the door a foot without unlatching the inner chain. She had a bed sheet wrapped around her svelte body and she looked about half his age. Straight black hair fell loosely around her pretty face with bangs over her forehead.

"Are you trying to get me fired?" she complained.

"Let me in. I've got news hot off the presses."

"I can't."

"I'm rather exposed out here in the hallway."

"You can't come in."

"Why not?"

"Please go away."

"I hired a boat for us to go sightseeing today."

"Call me in the morning."

"This is morning. What are you hiding in there?"

She stared at him coldly. "Nothing."

He tried to smile. "Oh, I see. Am I supposed to break down the door and make a scene?"

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Who is he? Anyone I know?"

"I can't go sightseeing today."

"That serious, huh?"

She averted her eyes. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this."

"Obviously not."

"Call me Friday if you like."

He sighed and touched her face. "Nah, I don't think so."

She backed away and closed the door. The man strolled down the hallway whistling an odd melody that had been running through his head all day.

In his room the American turned on the satellite TV and flipped through the channels with the remote control. He fell asleep on the sofa watching CNN as first light poured into the room.

After he woke up and ate a late breakfast, he went to the beach and waited from eleven-thirty until nearly two in the afternoon. The fisherman never showed up with his boat. The American was on his way back to the hotel in a taxi when he remembered something that made him laugh. It began as an almost involuntary chuckle, then slowly built momentum until it became a roaring belly laugh. The taxi driver glanced nervously in the rear-view mirror.

It was Christmas day, the second Christmas in a row the American had spent in Asia. In Singapore the year before he had proposed to a young Chinese woman who turned him down because they had only known each other for two weeks.