Lord, I know I’ve been a two-faced scoundrel, but help me! Your Mother, Christ, and whoever else is up there, help me! The madman is killing me! I promise to be a good Christian! I’ll pay my tithe to the church, and I’ll go to sing in the choir every Sunday! Where are you, Lord, when I need you!? Your servant is calling you!
Damn it, my legs feel like stone. Fucking sleeping pills!
“I know karate!” I half-mouth to Jean-Louis as a warning.
“Let me show you some karate! I’ll show you right now!” he rages and flexes his biceps.
He’s insane.
“Help!”
The beach is deserted. Anurat has disappeared. I’m doomed.
Lord, if You have mercy and help me this time, I swear I won’t touch a drop of alcohol for as many days as I have left. I’ll be sober. I’ll hate booze! And pills!
Let the sharks eat me if I’m lying to You!
Suddenly, my legs come to life, so I manage to roll to the left and land on all fours. I quickly grab a handful of sand and throw it in the madman’s eyes.
“You jerk!” he yells.
I crawl on all fours to save my life. Jean-Louis rages and rushes towards me, but he falls onto my deck chair like an oak tree felled by a cowardly axe. As he falls, he hits his chin on the edge of the deck chair. There’s an unmistakable sound of clashing teeth!
So, God exists! He just saved a Christian from the lion’s mouth!
For a brief moment, there is peace and quiet on the beach again. The Frenchman slowly raises his eyes towards me. He has a blurry look like a dog hit with a mallet.
“I think I’ve…”
But how stupid? Does he think he can fool me? I stand proudly on all fours at a safe distance from him. I look at him like a beast because I know he’s going to attack and kill me any moment now.
Jean-Louis spits and groans. He wipes the sand from his eyes and spits incessantly as if he’s eaten pepper.
“Damn… idiot!” he curses. “I bit my tongue!”
“Of course you did, you cock sucker!” I growl, waving the empty bottle in the air. “I have a black belt in… hmm… something. I’ll break you in half! I’m not afraid of you! God is on my side!”
“It’s serious,” he groans. “I feel it’s serious. I bit it really hard. My brain got scrambled. I saw green stars.”
“Poor you… Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad, you mother fucker! You just found out that life isn’t fair. What can I tell you…”
Seeing the blood-filled mouth he shows me, I feel my hair standing on end. I throw the bottle away and slowly crawl on all fours towards him.
“Jean-Louis, show me your tongue. Come on, open your mouth. That’s it, good job. Oh, dear, close it now. So, you weren’t lying! Mm… it’s the tongue… you bit it a little.”
“Is it bad?” he asks, scared.
“Oh… No, not at all. It’s nothing,” I lie, feeling like I’m about to faint.
The pharmacy is closed. Where the hell can I find a phone at this hour? A phone!
If I don’t call the emergency quickly, my expired visa will be the least of my problems.
Doctor Thai put two stitches on his tongue and left. Jean-Louis is like a rag. I let him sleep in my bed. He moaned for a while, then sleep took him, face down.
I found an intact deck chair on the beach. I tried to nap, but the wind kept bothering me until around eight-something.
Around nine, Saint Anurat appeared, and I managed to get a glass full of whiskey. No, not for me. I’ve repented. I don’t drink anymore.
I wake up Jean-Louis and make him gargle with alcohol, as the doctor recommended.
“Jean-Louis, what time did you say you have to take off? It’s nine.”
“At eleven thirty to Kelantan,” he groans.
“And are you going or not?”
“I have to,” he sighs. “I have a group of German tourists. They’ll tear my pants off if I don’t go.”
“Okay. You’ll go. Come on, get up! How far is it from here to your seaplane?”
The Frenchman has a splitting headache. I’m fine. It’s true, my liver stings a bit, but that means it’s still there.
As for the pilot, I don’t really have anyone to talk to. He groans like a pig. He mostly explains to me through signs that the boarding area is somewhere south of the beach, about two kilometers away.
I leave him to wallow in self-pity and quickly run to withdraw some money from the ATM.
I make a quick stop at the Thai restaurant. I buy another pack of cigarettes and stock up on two spicy sandwiches, the ones with onions, thin slices of pork ham, and other spicy stuff.
“Your friend left,” Anurat informs me.
“Left? Where, Anurat? Where?”
“He left that way,” he says, pointing with his hand.
“Perverted Frenchman!” I yell.
I quickly hand over the hut, pay Anurat for the destroyed deck chair, and I’m ready to go. It’s good that I’m not dragging a hundred bags behind me. Did you see, customs officer? Did you see, cow? Life without baggage is simple and elegant: you pay and leave.
I catch up with the unlucky one and wave the money under his nose.
“Look, Frenchy, here they are! These are them. I’ll give them to you after I board the plane.”
The man is a bit nervous, and I don’t understand why. I just showed him the money.
We both go in silence.
A few minutes later, I see a seaplane floating quietly tied to a pontoon. It’s big. It’s quite big indeed. It’s the mother of seaplanes.
Until around ten-thirty, Jean-Louis and another small, skinny guy check the seaplane inside and out, bring some packages and a few crates, whispering something in Thai-French.
The little guy comes up to me, points to Jean-Louis, and says something with a smile, then holds his head in his hands and pretends to be in pain. Jean-Louis shows him his fist, then looks sullenly at me:
“Where’s the money? Where are my dues? Pay me.”
I count out loud in front of the Thai eight hundred dollars. Jean-Louis gives two hundred to the little guy.
That’s it, I’m broke. The first thing when I get to Malaysia will be to look for an ATM.
I ask the pilot:
“When are your German group coming?”
“They’ll come when they come. Why are you in such a hurry? We still have until half past eleven. Get upstairs and make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay. How long until we reach Kelantan with this toy?”
“About two hours. It depends on the wind. Kelantan is beautiful, you’ll see. Anyway, much nicer than here. Will you stay in Kelantan?”
“Yeah. The Andaman Sea doesn’t agree with me. It’s too dangerous for me. I can’t wait to take a swim in the Pacific. What are those?”
“Those? Ah, those are floats. We float on them instead of wheels.”
“They’re big.”
“Yeap. The seaplane you see is the latest model in its class, with some modifications made specifically on order. Including the enclosed cockpit for the pilots. A gem.”
The man doesn’t seem so grumpy anymore. I’m glad about that.
“So, is this what you usually do?” I change the subject. “Do you fly from Phuket to Kelantan?”
“No. I fly where the agency sends me. I pick up clients from point A and take them to point B.”
“So the seaplane isn’t yours.”
“Are you dumb, man? It’s the agency’s,” he says without enthusiasm, then points to two people approaching. “Look, my German clients are coming. Ok! Say goodbyes to Phuket. In two hours, you’ll be in Malaysia.”
I swallow hard and climb into his floating den. I hope the Frenchman flies better than he talks.
Lord, help!
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