Page 24 of All That Remains
9
It was two in the afternoon when Rose came to wake me. She was but a shadowy silhouette, backlit by the draped balcony. My head was pounding, there was a thumping in my eardrums each time she called my name. I set a pillow over my face, which she promptly snatched away. I winced at the thought of the papery sheet separating her gaze from my nudity, but it couldn’t be helped. I’d hardly managed to crawl back into bed earlier after rushing to the toilet and hurling. Somehow I’d still managed to piss myself despite laying in the bathroom half an hour. There was a vague memory of peeling damp clothes away, then dumping them in the shower and turning it on.
“Whatareyou doing?!” she asked, with that distinctively British indignance, something I tended to notice after spending so much time with Americans.
“Rallying,” I croaked, hiding my face in the crook of my arm.
“Myass, you are!” she slammed the pillow onto my stomach, eliciting an—oof. “We’re half an hour late already! Get up, Rafe!Nowww!”
“Five more minutes, Mum—”
“Grrr!” The pillow landed again, this time slamming onto the arm covering my face.
“Fine, fine!I’m up!” I launched unsteadily from the bed, only bothering to cover my groin with the dragging sheet.
“Yuck! Ugh!”
I told her I'd meet her downstairs in twenty and hurried to the shower. I soon discovered my jeans, shirt, and underwear in a sodden heap where I'd left them. I wrung them out as best I could and sent them away to be laundered. Then all I could manage was standing under the freezing spray until my fingers grew numb and my brain kicked into drive.
***
The sky-train whipped around the city, spoiling us with scenic views of the rural and urban quarters—whisking us from market to market for shopping. At the first market, we moved through the stifling humidity, lost in the din of the milling crowd. It was a wildly sensory experience. The heat of the stoves, the clangorous sounds, the pungent odors and jarring sights. Live snakes and shrieking monkeys. Strange and exotic dishes I couldn’t imagine anyone eating in earnest. A cart arrayed with hideous, fanged fish and deep-fried tarantulas. Another cook barking their wares—beckoning us forth to try testicles, frog, and tripe. Prawns, crab, and squid everywhere one turned. Kids running amuck. Motorbikes skirting about. Hunched women shoving fruit into my bags and demanding I pay. I fished them out and promptly told them to piss off. Sal violently elbowed more than one determined scammer, as the three of us stuck out like sore thumbs. Easy targets.
When we arrived at the largest market of all, Chatuchak, I looked on in a sweltering delirium. Staggering forth, sweating through my tee. I sipped on an iced tea like it was the Elixir of Life. Rose took my hand when the crowd thickened and we threatened to be separated in the mad heave. Sal occasionally dropped a reassuring hand onto my shoulder, reminding me he was nearby, as I’d taken to glancing back every few seconds to ensure we hadn’t lost him.
The deeper we ventured into the market, the winding alleys shrank and the human traffic slowed. I was so exhausted and hungover, the smells became such that I wasn’t sure I could make it the next few feet without hurling. Soon Rose, munching on a plate of mango sticky rice, spotted an opening that led away from the food and over to carts that hawked knockoff luxe fashion. She caressed a fake red Birkin and marveled at the quality in its craftmanship.
“Have a look at that! The leather’s real, I swear!”
“As good as the real thing,” Sal chimed in.
“How exactly would you know?” I quipped. “You’ve got a better chance of meeting thePopethan getting your hands on a real Birkin, my friend.”
“So you say,” he muttered.
“I’ve never even seen one myself.”
“Ok, Hollywood.”
“This one’s good, but it’s not as special, is it?” Rose determined. “The value of the real bag comes from its exclusivity, right? That’s kind of the whole point.”
“Bingo.”
“Gosh, it’s pretty. But I could never carry a bag that huge. I’d stuff it so full of junk, it’d exhaust me to carry it around all day. I’d have it chock-full of snacks and books.”
“Alright, pack rat.” I laughed, shoving her head aside.
“Speaking of books, we’re on to the book stalls soon, gentlemen! Gird your loins. I can be a bit competitive.”
First, she settled on purchasing a bikini and a few crocheted crop tops. I picked up a new wallet, graphic tees, and a pair of flip flops. Then we walked around the book stalls for over an hour, and I threatened to throttle her if she didn’t decide on one already. When the heat seemed to thicken and the air became more difficult to breathe, we cut our losses and forewent thefamous floating markets, opting for some quieter sightseeing, preferably someplace with air conditioning.
Despite my cap and glasses, I was mobbed at the mall. Sal had insisted on going because he heard he could purchase a fake Rolex at one particular vendor from YouTube. Mission accomplished, the knockoff timepiece stuffed securely beneath his arm, I was soon spotted by a group of giggly Thai girls as we exited the illicit store. I feared that if I was photographed, the world would assume I had money woes and all my pieces were fakes. The lengthy ponytail with my signature plait was a pain to hide, making me one of the most recognizable men in the world.
As the crowds thickened and became increasingly unruly, we made a break for it, barely escaping in a tuk-tuk driven by a frail, white-haired man who had no idea why we were being chased. Eventually he deposited us at a local park where we chilled near a fountain, grateful the humidity was beginning to recede. We ate foreign snacks and recounted the crazies we’d seen on our adventure, before Rose decided she wanted to see theGrandPalace.
"And get mobbed again?" I grumbled.
"No one'll care about you there. They'll all be in awe of the old architecture! Trust me, these people arecultured."
