18mm Blues Read online

  “I didn’t mean to infer that. I apologize. At times I tend to be too elemental.”

  A forgiving shrug from Grady.

  “Anyway, if I were to take that approach to the cut you’d be disappointed.”

  “That’s how you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course that’s only your opinion,” Grady challenged.

  “Which is what you’ve come for,” William parried a bit sharply.

  Grady absorbed that, liked it. He about half-decided he liked William and would continue liking him as long as his supply of such principles held up. Principles, Grady often felt, were much rarer in the trade than gems.

  William, on the other hand, sensed that the first level of caution had been overcome, a measure of trust established. It was to Grady’s credit that they had reached this point so quickly, something that, as a rule, was possible only with the naive or fools or a person with acuity, and he was certain Grady was neither naive nor a fool. William smiled to accept the moment. He took up the ruby and placed it in the stainless steel saucer of his electronic scale. The red numerals of the readout said 42.3 carats.

  They went on discussing the cut.

  Julia remained silent. Her impatience crossed her legs, bobbed her foot, extended her legs, crossed her ankles. If only she were more interested in gems, she thought. Maybe she ought to endeavor to be. When she got back home she could take a course in gemology, not let Grady know, become more and more knowledgeable. She imagined his bewilderment when she dazzled him with a piece of technical information only someone well experienced in the trade would know. How come you know that? he’d ask. She wouldn’t tell, or perhaps eventually she would, to take credit for the effort.

  She gazed out the glass section of the office partition to the main work area. At the identical blue-shirted cutters, their bent-over backs to her. A mass of pale blue. Her focus fixed upon it, remained fixed and went to blur, surpassed everything within range to be seeing nothing, prolonged that and considered it a blindness of sorts.

  She needed only to turn her head to cure it. Brought her consideration back to the office, allowed it to become caught on the framed Japanese print hung on the wall across the way, a nicely done spare shore-scape accompanied by vertical brushstrokes of calligraphy in its upper right corner. The print appeared aged, wasn’t tattered but had gone buff. Its colors, subtle to begin with, now nearly indistinguishable. Directly below the print upon the top surface of a cabinet was a roughly fired earthenware bowl of Japanese character with a brown-black gaze. And next to that a female Japanese puppet head, standing upright on its neck, black hair bunned back, little red mouth forever pleasant, a nicked and chipped-off place on its pale, shiny chin. On the near corner of his desk was a folded-up paper fan with a loop and a tassel of red silk. And a shallow, square-shaped lacquer-ware box inlaid with flecks of gold foil. On the far wall, importantly isolated, a framed photo enlargement of a heroic baseball player for the Yomiuri Giants.

  There were numerous other things, but Julia for whatever reason had chosen to take notice of only some that were Japanese. Wasn’t it a suitable prelude to her more thorough observation of him, this William? Something within her seemed to be chastising her for not having already given him the regard he deserved. And permission was granted her to stare if she needed as she took him in.

  His age, she guessed, was somewhere in the late twenties. From those possible numbers twenty-nine came forward in her mind. Not a tall man, five foot ten at most. But his slimness and bearing made him appear taller. A swimmer’s physique, that was it. He had the trimly developed shoulders of a devoted swimmer. He wasn’t purely Oriental. Japanese and equally something Caucasian. Blessed physically with much of the best of both. The Japanese of him was most evident in his eyes and hair. Straight, strong hair combed straight back, black as could be, and although his eyes weren’t lazy lidded, there was certainly a degree of Oriental shape to them, Oriental the way they were set. Their whites were a good healthy white and their irises a surprising deep blue, except for an eighth section of the ring of the right one, which was brown, as though in his being formed that had been a last-minute concession. A pleasing accord of features. Definite cheekbones, a chin neither obstinate nor lost, the center-part nose nearly faultless. Watch him, just watch him. What an appealing manner he has. A sure voice familiar with words, correct with them. Appreciate the hold of his handsome head and his movements, even in his slightest gestures there is masculine grace. Such an advantage to be such a blended man, Julia thought she was thinking.

  She broke from her absorption with what she felt was a start but which was actually only a blink. Self-conscious of the side road her mind had just run. It wasn’t like her to take such intimate stock of a man, and a stranger at that. She often noticed men, yes, but never, at least not since Jean Luc and certainly not since Grady, had she been so assimilatingly observant, as though something emotional was at stake. What had gotten into her? Could she blame it on her momentary need for distraction? Hardly. The idea that she might be so spontaneously false hearted, that dormant fickleness was coming forth for its turn, made her feel off balance.

  “All right,” Grady was saying, “which of your cutters would you put on it?”

  “My best of course,” William replied. “Leave that up to me.”

  “I assume he won’t be one of those who’d need to study the piece for a couple of months before getting to it.”

  “No.”

  “I have your word on that?”

  “My word.”

  The last thing Grady wanted was to be back in San Francisco waiting for the ruby to be cut and sent, waiting and phoning and hearing excuses. He doubted that would happen with William, his insight told him it wouldn’t, his professional cynicism told him it could. For his immediate peace of mind he went along with his insight.

  William quoted his fee.

  Grady thought it on the high side but reasonable enough.

  “Done?”

  “Done.”

  “I gather you’re not all that familiar with Bangkok,” William said.

  “Not really.”

  “Not at all really,” Julia put in.

  “Do you have plans for this evening?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Grady replied. “We thought we might wander around, get a taste of the city.”

  “You might find it too spicy in places,” William warned obliquely with a smile.

  “I guess we’ll just have to take our chances,” Grady tossed back in the same manner.

  Macho shit, Julia thought.

  “Tell you what,” William said, “why not be my guests for dinner, then later on you’ll have a guide.”

  “Done!” Julia accepted before Grady had a chance to.

  The restaurant William took them to that evening couldn’t have been more on the river unless it had been a boat. It occupied a floating platform moored to the bank close by the Phrapinklao Bridge. To get to it one had to contend with a thirty-foot gangway, traditionally in need of repair, an unpredictable side-swiping gangway that presented a formidable feat, especially for ladies wearing high-heeled shoes such as the four inchers Julia had on. The less plucky usually refused, preferring to dine elsewhere, or they unshod themselves and arrived barefoot. Julia, however, hardly hesitated, took it chin up and in stride, not surrendering a degree of temerity to several wobbles and a turn of ankle that was just this side of a sprain.

  The owner of the place, an attractive Thai woman whose most recent name was Mahlee Chu, evidently felt the food and ambiance she offered were worth the peril of her gangway. She stood just aboard, maintaining a smile that might have been at least half amusement as she mentally culled the venturesome from the faint of heart and was most annoyed by those women who, taking only shoe-length steps, squealed all the way across, as though their lives rather than their makeup and hairdos were in danger. Whenever there was a plunge into the nighttime, murkier murk of the Chao Phra, it was an event, a caus
e for immediate, total interruption, a lot of scurry and shriek, drips and razzing. The faller was, when cooperative, brought to the bar, gotten out of his or her wet things to sit in undies and have a double or two of whatever. It happened once, often twice, a month. Three-quarters of the time it happened to someone departing, which spoke well of the pour at Mahlee Chu’s.

  “When you going to get a new gangway?” was something regular patrons always asked upon arrival, a sort of password.

  William was obviously a regular, neither because he asked that, nor because Mahlee replied as always, “Buddha will provide,” but because although people were waiting to be seated, the best possible table had been held for him, and Mahlee Chu showed him to it with an arm around. The table was situated in the outermost corner, farthest from the bar, allowed an unimpeded view of the river and all its after-dark aspects.

  So, there they were. Grady on Julia’s right, William on her left, she facing the river. The preference of a red wine rather than hard drinks was unanimous. William ordered a Bordeaux, an ’82 vintage Pauillac, had it served slightly chilled.

  They toasted to the only bond they were aware they had, the ruby.

  Julia sipped to that but then made Grady and William promise the topic of gems would be avoided from that point on. She had no intention of sitting there ruminating solo while they went on about color, carats and cuts.

  “Not even an anecdote or two?” Grady importuned.

  Julia yielded to that extent, and now that the terms were set, her mind went searching for subjects more to her interest. Came across plenty but, not to appear presiding, kept them to herself for the time being.

  Menus were presented but not looked at. Grady and Julia would leave the choosing of dinner to William, and he would leave it to Mahlee Chu. It was brought in a barrage of courses starting with chicken wrapped in banana leaf and ending with baked moongbean coconut custard and an ample taste of jackfruit seeds. Along the way there were green beef curry, lemon grass prawns, stuffed squid soup and numerous other dishes. Mahlee Chu just kept them coming.

  Grady was surprised when Julia asked one of the three waiters who were serving them to identify what was generously submerged in the soup and was told squid and Julia issued an mmmm of appreciation and went right at it. As though squid was an old, missed favorite. At another moment during another course Grady noticed Julia had a tiny red pepper clenched between her front teeth. He himself had suffered one of those fiery little devils and his lips felt puffed with blisters, so he thought to caution Julia. However, before he could she bit through the pepper and her tongue emerged and took it all in and he anticipated a gasp from her, but she just chewed and swallowed without even a change of expression.

  Some woman, Grady thought observing her, more confounding by the minute. That was by no means a complaint. He wouldn’t have her any other way. Her desire for nonexistent natural blue pearls and her immunity to torturous red peppers were incompatibilities he could live with.

  Throughout most of the meal the conversation skipped along lightly and neutrally with William in the lead. He dispensing polite charm, as though he had a limitless supply.

  One of the topics he hit upon and kept upon for quite a while was the Thai people’s extraordinary belief in the supernatural. According to their way of thinking spirits with all sorts of intents were hanging and hovering around all over the place, ready to determine every up and down, path and corner of every life. A winning lottery ticket, an overcooked fish, a head-on collision with a bus: a spirit surely had a part in it. No Thai would think of opening a business, not even a major bank or a high-rise hotel, without first finding out if the spirits were agreeable to doing so on that day. Of course, such unstinting involvement required a multitude of spirits, and there was a multitude, many more spirits than there were humankind. Countless spirits filled the air. There was no getting around them. They might dwell in any object, from a hair curler to a satellite. For some reason they especially liked to reside in clocks and wristwatches, in fact, in any type of timepiece. They’d been known to squabble over better dwellings like Rolex Presidentials and Piagets, frequently stopping those from running until the dispute was settled.

  Julia asked William if he had such beliefs.

  He laughed self-consciously and told her they were so prevalent that at times it was difficult not to go along with them.

  She mentioned having seen the elaborate little spirit house just outside his cutting factory.

  He explained it was for the cutters. Without it they’d have only themselves to blame for their mistakes. How did she know it was a spirit house?

  Grady too wondered that.

  She just knew, Julia said, didn’t know how she knew.

  William went on about spirits, told how Thai parents normally gave a newborn child an ugly name, a name like limping toad or feeble worm, hoping to trick the evil spirits into thinking the child was descriptively named, repulsive, not worth the bother.

  Julia thought it tragic that anyone should get stuck for life with being known as limping toad.

  William told her those ugly names were canceled when the child became old enough to fend off bad spirits on his own. From then on he or she would be called by the nice name the parents had in mind all the while. The changing of names was commonplace in Thailand. A person was free to be called what he preferred to be called and without a lot of legal tangle could shed a name and take on a new one whenever he felt inclined.

  “Have you ever changed your name?” Julia asked.

  The question was so unexpected that William stumbled over his fib. “Uh … no,” and then more certain, “no.”

  “Then you’ve always been William Shigota?”

  William signaled the waitress to bring a fresh pot of tea. The question got lost but Julia had another. “You haven’t lived here in Bangkok all your life, have you?”

  “Most of it.”

  “You’ve family here?”

  Another no from William.

  “So, where’s your family? In Japan, I suppose.”

  “I have an aunt in Tokyo. She owns a shop that sells tennis clothes and, from what I hear, is abogut to open another. A smart businesswoman, quite successful.” Partially true. The aunt in Tokyo was successful at running her placement agency that specialized in bar girls and girls who claimed to be merely bar girls.

  “No other family?”

  “Some, distant cousins and other relatives. They live in Noto-Hanto prefecture. On an island called Hegurajima. I doubt you’ve even heard of it.”

  “You probably go there often to visit.”

  “Yes.” Another fast fib.

  “Your mother lives there?”

  “My mother is dead,” William said levelly, as though merely imparting information. “She died in 1974.”

  “And it still hurts you to speak of it.”

  “It doesn’t hurt.” Another fib. “By now it doesn’t.”

  “What was it she died of?”

  William almost said blue pearls. “An accident at sea,” he replied. “She was left a considerable amount of money by her father. She bought a boat, a motor sailer, a forty-five footer. We went on a cruise, a long one, she and her sister and I. Down across the East China Sea and the South China Sea, through the Strait of Malacca and up the west coast of Malaysia and Thailand. We’d put in here and there, wherever we liked, no hurry, all nice lazy going, only vaguely sure of where we were, if you know what I mean, not constantly consulting a chart. That’s how it was. So the storm, a nasty powerful one, caught us unaware. We saw it coming but by then it was too close and coming so fast it couldn’t be avoided. Strange, it was like it was our storm, meant for us, a huge, gray rolling mass of diabolical spirit.”

  “Really?” Julia inserted to punctuate William’s telling. The word was said mainly with interest but colored with a dubious tinge, nearly indiscernible but there if you cared to hear it.

  “The boat was swamped. My mother and her sister were drowned. Neithe
r knew how to swim, not a stroke.”

  An up-the-scale oh from Julia.

  “I was washed up on an island, a very minor unoccupied island out there somewhere in the Andaman Sea. I could have easily been carried right past it.”

  “What then?” Julia was hunched forward, forearms on the table, fingers laced. “Evidently you were rescued.”

  “By a wealthy Burmese man, a merchant of some kind cruising on his pleasure yacht.”

  “He took you to his home, fed you well, dressed you expensively and provided you with a first-class ticket to Tokyo,” Julia imagined.

  “He took me to within sight of the mainland, close enough that I could swim to it.”

  “That was grand of him.”

  “When I got ashore I found I was in Burma and the nearest place was called Bokpyin. From there I walked and begged my way east over the mountains and into Thailand. Hitched rides north on Route 4 to Bangkok.”

  “And you’ve been here ever since.”

  “I take it you’ve heard this story before,” William grinned wryly.

  “Not with the same twists,” Julia said, matching his grin.

  William gulped some tea, looked to Grady for comment. Grady was content to be a listener and give a good percentage of his attention to the river, the way the reflections of the lights across the way were stretched out upon its disturbed surface in shining yellow pieces. There was also the dark loom and underside of the bridge off to the right.

  Julia waited for William to continue, and when after a while he didn’t, her interest prompted him. “So, go on. You’re how old and in Bangkok on your own?”

  “Nine. In most ways a very inexperienced nine. I didn’t know how to live the streets like some boys. I did, however, know enough to find my way to benevolence, which happened to be the Wat Po.”

  “A Buddhist temple.”

  “The oldest and largest of the many in Bangkok. For the first month I never ventured outside its walls. By day I was just a visitor among the visitors, wandering around the twenty-acre compound with its numerous pavilions and chedis and gardens. By night, after the public was gone and the gates closed, I’d rummage the refuse cans for discarded scraps of chicken or pork skin, a few peanuts perhaps, pieces of pickled vegetables and bits of fruit. A quiet little scavenger. Then I’d find some corner in back of a pavilion located in back of everything where I could sleep.”