The next morning, against the doctor's orders, Nuang left the hospital and took her newborn baby with her. She was not feeling well and knew she should stay, but the voices were unrelenting. Her mind was a dizzy blur. She was in shock from her labor. She was in even more shock from seeing what had emerged from her womb. She could not let Surat see this baby.
Her first stop was an ATM where she withdrew most of the money from their bank account. Next she took a taxi to the Chiang Mai bus station and bought a one way ticket to her hometown of Phitsanulok. She found a seat away from the main terminal and waited for her departure time.
She kept the baby's face covered with the blanket she had taken from the hospital. She didn't want anyone to see it. No one needed to know her baby had fair hair and blue eyes.
Four hours after checking herself out of the hospital, Nuang and her newborn baby boarded their bus to Phitsanulok. She breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the main road heading south. An unexpected coldness crept through her. She wished she had taken time to go by her house for clothes. If the bus stayed this cold, it would be a long ride to Phitsanulok. She thought she might even freeze to death.
An hour out of Chiang Mai, the baby awoke and began to cry. The passengers within eyeshot turned to look, then turned away.
Nuang wasn't sure what to do. She knew the baby must be hungry, but she had never breastfed a baby before. She rocked back and forth in her seat hoping the cries would stop, but they didn't. Finally, she knew she had no choice. She unbuttoned her blouse and put the baby's mouth to her breast.
It was an unusual sensation. Surat almost never touched her breasts, and had never taken one in his mouth, not even when they made love. The feeling was not unpleasant, just different. She kept the blanket pulled across her as the baby nursed.
The man seated across the aisle from her stared for a few minutes when he realized she was nursing a baby, but lost interest when she held the blanket in place. No one gave her a second look as she softly patted the baby's back to burp him.
Nuang slipped one hand under the blanket and probed a finger into the diaper. It was wet. She hadn't thought to buy diapers before getting on the bus. Even if she had, she was sure she didn't want to change the diaper on the bus while it was daylight.
She glanced at her watch. She would be in Phitsanulok in three hours. The wet diaper would have to wait.
Nuang arrived in Phitsanulok long after the sun had set. It was almost nine o'clock by the time she exited the bus terminal. She flagged down a taxi and gave directions to her mother's house. Two blocks later she changed her mind and switched directions to her sister's. After a minute, she told the driver to stop at the nearest Seven-Eleven store and asked him to wait while she went inside to buy diapers, wipes, and powder.
When Nuang returned, she gave him new directions. This time it was to the temple. As much as she wanted to see her mother and her sisters, she wasn't ready to face the shame of having a baby from an illicit affair with a farang.
As the taxi made its way through Phitsanulok, Nuang changed the baby's diaper. It was only wet and nothing else. She wondered how long it was before babies had their first bowel movement. It was something she had never thought about and something she didn't know.
The driver never looked back, so he didn't see the baby uncovered. But Nuang did. As they passed beneath the street lights, she got a perfect look. It was the first time she had seen her baby uncovered since the hospital.
Her skin was mostly red and obviously more foreign than Thai. Her hair wasn't as fair as she had first thought, but it was far from being black. Her eyes were shut but she knew they were as blue as she remembered. Her baby was not Thai. She was farang, foreign. Her baby was a half-breed, a mongrel, and it was hers. She stared for a long minute. Yes, it was definitely hers. When the taxi slowed for a stoplight, she wrapped the baby back into the blanket.
"Why are you going to the temple?" the driver asked, pretending nonchalance.
He was being nosy, but Nuang answered anyway, "I am taking my baby to see her grandfather." It was a lie, but the truth was none of his business.
"Your grandfather is a monk?"
"My grandfather is the abbot," she lied again, hoping the driver would stop his questions.
"How long has he been a monk?"
Nuang didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the baby to her chest and sang a soft lullaby. The driver took the hint and kept his mouth shut. Five minutes later they arrived at the temple. She paid the driver and he drove away.
Standing at the edge of the courtyard, she heard faint chanting emanating from inside the temple. She was surprised. It was late, and the temple should be quiet by now. Probably some religious holiday she had forgotten. She saw a lone monk walking toward her. She wondered if he would speak to her or just ignore her.
"Sawasdee, krup," he said.
"Sawasdee, ka," she replied. "Please excuse my bad manners, but I cannot wai while holding my baby." A wai is a polite greeting of respect, presented by pressing one's hands together in prayer-like fashion and then placing them in front of one's face. She knew she could have put her baby on the ground and wai'ed to the monk, but she didn't. "Please accept my apologies."
"Mai pen rai," the monk responded. Never mind. His eyes focused on the small bundle she held close to her chest. "Can I help you?"
Nuang guessed the monk to be in his late twenties. He was lean but not gaunt. His head was shaved. He seemed uncomfortable in his saffron robe. She suspected he was at the temple to do a short period of service to the Lord Buddha, rather than make the monkhood his life.
"I have a baby and very little money," she said. "I need a place to stay for tonight. A man told me this temple sometimes helps desperate women. Please, can you help me?"
"How old is your baby? Is it well?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"The baby was born just yesterday. Please, I need some place to lie down. Suddenly, I feel very tired."
It was true. This was the longest she had stood at one time since the baby was born—and she hadn't eaten in two days. There was an itching, burning, sensation in her pelvic area. She felt nauseous.
"May I see your baby?" the monk asked.
Nuang pulled the baby closer. "No."
The young monk was taken aback. He had never met a woman who didn't want to show off her baby. He studied her face. She wasn't young, but not old either. He guessed her to be in her mid thirties. The maternity dress bagged unflattering down her body. She looked exhausted. The baby hadn't moved or made a sound.
"Please come with me," he said. "I'll show you where you can sleep."
She followed him to a building away from the main temple area. The room was stark but clean. Most important, it had a bed. A deep chill gripped her body. She shook involuntarily and the young monk noticed.
"Are you okay?" he asked, stepping closer, extending his hand to touch her forehead.
Nuang pulled away. "I'm okay. Please, I want to sleep now."
"What about the baby? Will you need help? I can have someone take care while you sleep."
"No!" The word shot from her mouth. She hesitated for a moment then said in a softer tone, "I mean, no, thank you. I will be fine."
She laid the baby on the bed, then turned and presented the monk with a very proper wai. "Khop khun mahk, ka. Now I must sleep."
"I will come for you in the morning to eat breakfast. It will be very early." He turned and left the room.
Another chill swept through Nuang. She never knew Thailand could be so cold. Being careful of her baby, she slipped under the bedcovers, pulled herself into a tight fetal ball, and shivered violently.
As she lay there trying to get warm, she realized the voices had not spoken since she left Chiang Mai. She prayed they didn't find her here. In a while the shivering calmed and she slept.
During the night an infection grew wild, uncontrolled. It ravaged her body to near death.