A VERY SAD SITUATION

Still deep in thought about the implications of her assistant’s new hairstyle, Ladarat didn’t notice the strange man until they’d almost reached the sliding doors to the ICU. He was crouched against his familiar wall, again with a view of Doi Suthep mountain. He smiled at them a little uncertainly and gave a deep wai, which they both returned. Ladarat pointed at the doors.

“Perhaps you can go ahead,” she said softly to Sisithorn. “You could bring the wife out here and we could talk in more quiet circumstances?” Sisithorn nodded, and then she disappeared into the ICU and the doors hissed closed behind her.

The man was looking at her strangely, with a mix of fear and respect that mystified her. Surely he recognized her? But then she realized that she’d put on her white coat for the meeting they’d just come from. Seeing her now in her professional outfit, the man was probably surprised. Perhaps he was intimidated, too. If he truly came from the hills, his experience with medical people would be very limited.

She greeted him warmly and sat on a chair nearby. Not too near, though. She sensed that getting close might spook him in the same way that getting too close to a wild animal might cause it to flee.

After greeting her, though, the man was silent and watchful. Not unfriendly, but cautious. And just like a wild animal would be, he seemed as though he’d be ready to turn and run at the slightest provocation. Ladarat guessed that a question—any question—might send him flying away. So she decided to talk instead. No questions or interrogation. She would just talk, and he could listen or not.

“I am here to see a man and his family,” she said. “It is a sad situation. A very sad situation. He was injured, you see, and was taken here. But he and his family are farang. They are not from here,” she clarified, unsure whether this man’s rural vocabulary extended to tourist words like farang.

Perhaps it didn’t. He was looking at her with a steady concentration that you might devote to thunderclouds boiling in the sky. A mix of fear and concern tinged with fascination.

“Have you heard of this man?” she asked.

In an instant he became flustered, looking down at the ground and then at the ICU doors, which remained shut. He rose to a crouch, and then stood up. But that put his head above hers, which was disrespectful, so he crouched down, bent almost double in a hurried wai. Ladarat stood, perplexed, and returned the wai.

Then he scurried quickly toward the long hallway, his bare feet slapping on the tile floor. She followed for a few steps, well behind him. Still perplexed by the departure, nevertheless she smiled as she saw that the long hallway was empty, just as she knew it would be.

But she didn’t have much time to ponder that brief conversation and its outcome. No sooner had the man disappeared than Sisithorn emerged pushing the young Mrs. Fuller. The American was looking up, and Sisithorn was leaning over and they were talking conspiratorially.

She needed to focus her attention. This would be a difficult conversation.