"Santé!" he says and raises the bottle towards me, then sucks down everything in it like a baby.
I sigh and utter clumsily:
"Me don't understand at you!"
"I said 'cheers'!" he shouts in English.
"Me don't understand you!" I say impassively. "Not English! Not at all English! Zero."
"Oh, really?" he laughs. "Are you kidding me? I thought you spoke quite fluently when you were asking the stuttering guy for cherry-flavored cigars."
"Cigarette leaves, not cigars!" I say angrily and light up a filthy Marlboro. I blow the smoke in his direction, but he can't notice because I'm a smart guy and I do it very subtly.
He looks at me with cold eyes. I start to tense up. What if he attacks?
"All women are sluts!" he suddenly rages.
That's it, my heart dies inside me. It stops beating.
"I understand zero of what you're saying there," I mutter quietly. "Zero divided by four. I speak a little Russian, a little French, and very, very little English."
"Why didn't you say so, buddy? I'm French. We can speak in Voltaire's language if you want. But no matter what language you say it in, the truth is that all women are sluts with diplomas. You can believe that. Jean-Louis said it!"
"I don't know if I've read anything by Jean-Louis! I think I've heard of Voltaire, but not the other one."
"Jean-Louis is me."
"Ah! Nice to meet you," I say mockingly as I sip my ice cube.
And to think that my little trick had been working wonders until now... I used to say "Me don't understand English" and that was it. Now this guy comes along and messes up my statistics.
"All women are sluts!" he rages again.
From what I can tell, the Frenchman is part of that gang of idiots who think they're immune to trouble just because they have slightly broader shoulders.
False!
Even a guy as big as a door falls like lightning if you kick him in the balls.
Or in the knees.
But it seems that Jean-Louis hasn't had such a shocking experience yet, so he keeps going on about his slutty women.
I know that if I don't ask, he'll keep going like this until tomorrow morning, like an idiot. He's too drunk to realize he's stuck on a loop. I have to unblock him.
"Why do you say that, Jean-Louis?" I ask sweetly.
"Because all the women I've met were like that," he replies gruffly.
"Maybe you haven't met enough, Jean-Louis. Don't give up so easily. I've seen plenty of non-slutty women on the left side of the beach. Look... over there. If you take it slow, you'll surely find two or three more."
"Don't play smart with me, big mouth!" he says with a frozen face.
Lord, you know how much I hate drunks! Why did you put this one in my path? Everything was fine until now.
Why? Why?
"Are you joking with me?" he suddenly snaps.
The man is asking for a kick in the balls. But I can't give it to him like this, sitting on the sun lounger. I'll have to stand up.
I calculate the distance with my eyes. I start to flex my right ankle slowly. You never know when, but you know how.
"No need to get upset, buddy," I say in a bored tone. "How about we get up for a bit? We could use some stretching. Movement is good."
"No, thanks. I just sat down."
"I insist."
"Forget it!" he rages suddenly. "And stop making stupid jokes with me."
Damn it! I'm a sinner, Lord, I know that, but... why do you always test me? What did I do wrong? Take this bastard off my back and I promise that... I promise that...
"Let me assure you, monsieur, that I've met a lot of women in my life," says Jean-Louis with a drunken voice. "I'm a pilot and for about three years I've been flying only around here, in Southeast Asia. Believe me, I've had birds of all colors."
"Pilot?" I exclaim, turning my head towards him. "Interesting! I've flown a lot in my life too. I'm very familiar with flights. You know what? I've always wanted to see those magnificent guys who fly airplanes so well and under such safe conditions."
"I'm glad your dream came true," he says, belching. "I'm glad I'm your hero. You can look at me as much as you want."
"Do you happen to be flying tomorrow?"
He starts counting on his fingers, then looks at me puzzled.
"I could swear I wasn't flying tomorrow, but now I'm not so sure. What day is it today? I hope it's not Thursday."
"I have no idea."
"I'm serious. Is it Thursday or not?"
"How should I know if it's Thursday?!" I shout. "Who do you take me for? A government official? This is ridiculous! It might be Thursday, but it could also be Sunday. My schedule is the same every day and will remain so for the next 379 days."
"Ask that yellowish guy."
I turn my head back over the sun lounger. Anurat is somewhere around there. He's doing his calculations.
"Anurat! Hey! What day is it today, buddy?"
"Mūl s̄ukr! Thursday, sir!"
I quickly finish my whiskey. I wish I could drink it more slowly, but God had other plans.
Probably by now, if I manage to get up, I'll go and take a swim in the sea. I feel the need to take a bath and wash off all the salty sweat.
Jean-Louis finishes his calculations on his fingers and it's clear as day that he's not too happy about it.
He gets up tactfully, walks to the shore, and pisses pensively into the waves. He probably has a pretty capacious bladder because he keeps swaying and pissing for about half a minute.
I look at the broad back of the Frenchman with a cold gaze.
"Bravo, don't be shy!" I shout at him. "Go ahead and relieve yourself. I wasn't planning on swimming tonight anyway."
Okay. It's clear that I won't be bathing in the sea tonight. Tomorrow, yes.
By tomorrow at 10 a.m. when I wake up, the Frenchman's piss will already be far away, somewhere off the coast of Japan. Or not. Japan is in the Pacific. This is the Indian Ocean. Then? India?
"Hey, aviator! What country is in that direction?"
"That's Bangladesh," says Jean-Louis, pointing to it.
Good!
So tomorrow morning the Bangladeshis will have a surprise.
"Oh, shit!" says Jean-Louis, upset. "It's exactly as I feared. Tomorrow at eleven-thirty I have a flight to Kelantan."
"Where's that?"
"Somewhere behind us, about 500 kilometers away!" he says and points over his head. "Towards the Pacific. In Malaysia."
"I've always dreamed of seeing the Pacific," I say, lost in thought.
"It's simple. Give me a thousand dollars, and you'll see the Pacific tomorrow. And the day after, we'll come back."
My visa expires in three days. Maybe it's not a bad idea. I wonder if the Malaysians let you in without a visa.
"Jean-Louis... and what if I want to stay there? How much is just one way?"
"Nine hundred."
"What the hell!" I shout. "So it's a thousand round trip and nine hundred one way? Has anyone ever told you that you can't do math?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you look like you were dug up yesterday?"
Oh, Lord! Why did you bring him here?
The Frenchman scratches his head and continues, "Okay, okay... If you buy me a whisky, maybe I'll give you a discount from nine hundred to... eight hundred," he mutters. "Come on, don't pout! When you make that face, you look even worse."
"I'm not pouting. This is just how I look when I'm thinking. I was thinking that eight hundred still seems like a lot."
"Then stay here and admire this beach," he says, pointing to the Indian Ocean. "By the way, this water in front of us isn't as harmless as it seems. In December 2004, a lot of people died on this shore."
"In 2004?"
"Yes. And it was December, just like now. Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Great Tsunami of 2004?"
"I have," I stammer, suddenly feeling cold. "Was it here? Right here? On this beach?"
"And on all the others, yes. It was full of bodies. After the waters receded, it started to stink. Five thousand dead."
"Were you around here, pilot?"
"Thank God, no, I wasn't! The agency sent me to Indonesia that day. But I saw what the beaches looked like after the tsunami. Believe me, mon ami, the Andaman Sea isn't always so charming. I saw piles of corpses all along the coast of Thailand.
Here, in Phuket, it was a disaster. I'm not even sure if they managed to collect all the bodies. Some of them remained buried under the sand. Maybe right now you're lying on a beach chair over a corpse."
"Are you trying to scare me?" A cold shiver runs down my spine.
"Oh, God!" the Frenchman exclaims, jumping up in fright. "What's that? A little child's hand?"
"Where?" I scream. "Where?"
"Ah, nothing. I thought it was a child's hand!" he says, laughing and sitting back down.
"Ha, ha... Very funny, I have to say!"
What an idiot! He annoys me.
"Say you didn't believe me!" he chuckles.
"Not at all!" I snap, with one eye on him and the other on the fine sand under the beach chair. Then I add thoughtfully, "What you said was in the past. Just in 2004. No chance of it happening again."
"You think so?" he sneers, looking at me mockingly. "Find out, buddy, that it could happen again in 2044 or... it could happen again tomorrow. Or in an hour. It's still December, isn't it?"
Damn perverted Frenchman!
I don't know why, but he scares me. He managed to in the end. The Andaman Sea doesn't seem so wonderful to me anymore. Just the idea of sleeping in a shabby bamboo hut only twenty steps from the waves doesn't appeal to me at all. Why did I end up with this jerk?
"In 2004, there was an indescribable stench here," he starts again. "Enough already! I got the idea. I swear! They were picking up the bodies from the mud by the thousands. They buried them in heaps because it was very hot, and they rotted incredibly fast. I repeat, it was still December, just like now."
"I believe you," I mutter. "Damn it! Were you planning to ruin my evening?"
Jean-Louis waves his hand dismissively.
"Don't be stupid, man. Come to the Pacific. Why are you clinging to this beach?'' he grins. "The Andaman Sea is just a filthy puddle. You have no idea how heavenly the scenery is all along the Pacific. You're not much of a traveler, are you?"
"But where's the problem?" I protest. "I'm not afraid to fly. Not at all. I'm a veteran of flights," I confess modestly. "In fact, I've recently thought about learning to fly myself."
"Come with me, and you'll fly for sure."
"I wouldn't go with you even to the corner store, Jean-Louis. But, damn it, if I were to fly... that would be something."
I make up my mind. I don't want to stay in this cursed area for another second. There are probably ghosts everywhere. I wonder what a tsunami wave looks like up close?
That's it! I'm packing my bags right now. I'm crazy if I stay here any longer! Goodbye, Phuket! Goodbye, Andaman, treacherous sea! It was nice while it lasted... I'm heading to the Pacific!
The Frenchman sees that I'm silent, but he suspects what's on my mind. He looks at me, laughing. "It's hard for you to make up your mind, buddy."
"Shall we negotiate?" I ask abruptly.
"We negotiate if you want!" he replies, grinning. I take a deep breath and fire the first shot: "I'll only pay you seven hundred dollars. Nothing more. And you let me pilot your damn plane for a bit."
"Hell no!" he says, yawning. "Give me eight hundred dollars plus a bottle of whiskey, and I'll let you sit in the cockpit for five minutes to pilot."
"No! You let me for half an hour!"
"Oh, damn it! You're a good negotiator! It's a deal, man. Bring the bottle and the money quickly."
"Ha? No way! You'll see the money only tomorrow when I board the plane. In fact, I don't even have it all now. I have to go to the ATM in the morning to get some cash."
"Damn it! Fine, as you say. But bring the bottle now."
"It's done!"
I shout: "Anurat, where are you? Can't you see you have customers? Bring a bottle of... of..."
"Whiskey," the Frenchman shouts. "Give me something else, or I'll have a headache tomorrow."
"Anurat, did you hear? A bottle of whiskey for my friend and a clean glass."
"Two glasses," Jean-Louis corrects generously.