with the knees. So graceful. So assured. Her eyes fixed on mine. With every step there was a flicker of pain deep within the blueness, and somewhere deep inside me something stirred, unwilling.
We walked all over that day, Ivory dragging us behind her like a covey of quail. A tuk-tuk carried us over to Patong and the Butterfly Gardens there. I kept watching Minnie as we walked among the butterflies, colored leaves drifting on the breeze, to see if my suspicions were right. And it seemed as though, as the day wore on, the shadows crossed her eyes more and more. As though she were walking on knives, or broken glass, but was too proud or too stupid to make a sound.
My heart, enclosed in its box, twitched at the thought.
We even went back to Lampang and the elephant. Ivory had never seen one paint. We all watched as Khwaam dipped his trunk to create wavy lines of blue. And then red paint to make smears like footprints crossing them. Minnie turned away as though uninterested but Ivory paid for the picture.
“ Have you ever thought,” she said on the way home, “of all the ways women mutilate themselves for love?”
“ Women do it for themselves,” Trevor said. “They like to look pretty. Ever seen a bunch of women turn on an ugly one? It’s what sororities are made of.”
“ Sexist bullshit,” Ivory said. “You don’t deserve any of the things women do. The world would be happier without men.”
“ But would you?” he said, leering and putting a significant hand on his crotch.
“ I don’t know,” she said, and the smile fell away from his face, replaced by confusion at the neutrality of her tone. But she wasn’t even looking at him. Just staring out the window, her palm laid on her chest.
On a hunch, I said, “Do you regret the surgery?”
She laughed harshly. “Regret it? I’ll have perfect tits until the day I die. What woman could regret such a thing?”
“ Why did you do it then?” Trevor asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“ Because you can’t sell things unless you look good,” Ivory said. “At least, a woman can’t. Men can always rely on character .”
Minnie looked between us, uncomprehending but hearing the hostility in Ivory’s tone.
If I’d known what to say, I would have. Instead I leaned over and took Minnie’s hand. It was the first time I’d touched her. Her flesh was chilly and moist despite the day’s heat. She smiled at me.
Ivory stared out the window, watching the spirit houses on the side of the road, the rolled up painting in her hand.
“ Ivory’s a little crazy,” Trevor said apologetically that night in the lobby.
“ You’re telling me?”
“ She thinks Minnie’s a fairy tale.”
“ What?”
“ She thinks Minnie’s the Little Mermaid.”
“ The one with seashells over her boobs and singing fish for pals?”
“ No, that’s the Disney version. She means the original.”
“ What’s the difference?”
“ The ending’s not happy in the original,” Ivory said from behind us. I hadn’t heard her coming. “You know the story? She’s the youngest daughter of the Sea King and on her fifteenth birthday she’s allowed up to the surface. She sees a ship with a handsome prince on it, and she falls in love with him. So she goes to the Sea Witch, who agrees to give her the power to walk on land and pursue his love, in return for her voice. She does, but the magic’s imperfect, and it hurts her to walk. But she does it, for love of the prince. He falls in love with someone else, of course. In the end, she turns into foam and dies, because she has no soul.”
I looked at her in disbelief. “And this is what you think is happening?”
“ Oh, you’re not a prince,” Ivory said. “But you’re close enough in her eyes. So what are you going to do? Buy her fake papers, take her home with you? I don’t know if you’d like a steady diet of tuna, but I guess you’ll get used to it.”
“ You’re full of crap,” I said.
“ I’ve
We walked all over that day, Ivory dragging us behind her like a covey of quail. A tuk-tuk carried us over to Patong and the Butterfly Gardens there. I kept watching Minnie as we walked among the butterflies, colored leaves drifting on the breeze, to see if my suspicions were right. And it seemed as though, as the day wore on, the shadows crossed her eyes more and more. As though she were walking on knives, or broken glass, but was too proud or too stupid to make a sound.
My heart, enclosed in its box, twitched at the thought.
We even went back to Lampang and the elephant. Ivory had never seen one paint. We all watched as Khwaam dipped his trunk to create wavy lines of blue. And then red paint to make smears like footprints crossing them. Minnie turned away as though uninterested but Ivory paid for the picture.
“ Have you ever thought,” she said on the way home, “of all the ways women mutilate themselves for love?”
“ Women do it for themselves,” Trevor said. “They like to look pretty. Ever seen a bunch of women turn on an ugly one? It’s what sororities are made of.”
“ Sexist bullshit,” Ivory said. “You don’t deserve any of the things women do. The world would be happier without men.”
“ But would you?” he said, leering and putting a significant hand on his crotch.
“ I don’t know,” she said, and the smile fell away from his face, replaced by confusion at the neutrality of her tone. But she wasn’t even looking at him. Just staring out the window, her palm laid on her chest.
On a hunch, I said, “Do you regret the surgery?”
She laughed harshly. “Regret it? I’ll have perfect tits until the day I die. What woman could regret such a thing?”
“ Why did you do it then?” Trevor asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“ Because you can’t sell things unless you look good,” Ivory said. “At least, a woman can’t. Men can always rely on character .”
Minnie looked between us, uncomprehending but hearing the hostility in Ivory’s tone.
If I’d known what to say, I would have. Instead I leaned over and took Minnie’s hand. It was the first time I’d touched her. Her flesh was chilly and moist despite the day’s heat. She smiled at me.
Ivory stared out the window, watching the spirit houses on the side of the road, the rolled up painting in her hand.
“ Ivory’s a little crazy,” Trevor said apologetically that night in the lobby.
“ You’re telling me?”
“ She thinks Minnie’s a fairy tale.”
“ What?”
“ She thinks Minnie’s the Little Mermaid.”
“ The one with seashells over her boobs and singing fish for pals?”
“ No, that’s the Disney version. She means the original.”
“ What’s the difference?”
“ The ending’s not happy in the original,” Ivory said from behind us. I hadn’t heard her coming. “You know the story? She’s the youngest daughter of the Sea King and on her fifteenth birthday she’s allowed up to the surface. She sees a ship with a handsome prince on it, and she falls in love with him. So she goes to the Sea Witch, who agrees to give her the power to walk on land and pursue his love, in return for her voice. She does, but the magic’s imperfect, and it hurts her to walk. But she does it, for love of the prince. He falls in love with someone else, of course. In the end, she turns into foam and dies, because she has no soul.”
I looked at her in disbelief. “And this is what you think is happening?”
“ Oh, you’re not a prince,” Ivory said. “But you’re close enough in her eyes. So what are you going to do? Buy her fake papers, take her home with you? I don’t know if you’d like a steady diet of tuna, but I guess you’ll get used to it.”
“ You’re full of crap,” I said.
“ I’ve
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