The Place of Quarantine

Chapter 27

Having spent almost the whole night in Nok’s room, Ivan Brevich decided what he wanted to do with his life. With what remained of it, which he knew would not be long. Lasting just enough to find a reliable way to reunite himself with Nok after his own death.

This was not a decision born of despair – Ivan had no doubt he could endure everything, cope with it no matter what. The loss of Nok included – but living without her was pointless, ridiculous, absurd. Any alternative seemed more sensible – and now, looking from a new angle, even through a cloudy prism, he saw: an alternative was possible. He did not stop thinking about it for a minute, pushing everything else into the background. In the depths of his soul, he understood the task was enormously complex, his goal perhaps unattainable. But his mind rejected unattainability, refused to accept it.

Returning to Moscow, Ivan began reorganizing his assets. The strategy was simple: he quickly sold everything of noticeable value. Within three weeks, his company and the huge house on the River Klyazma had acquired new owners. He transferred money, a very large amount, to offshore banks and left it in cash, without investing in anything, so that all the capital would be available at any moment.

In the meantime, the investigation into Nok’s death had produced results. The case was a high-profile one and was being followed closely by the press and high-ranking officials. The bodyguard, although seriously injured, had recovered and was able to testify. The abduction of the wife of a major businessman was immediately linked to the violent death of his partner. The perpetrators, despite a carefully thought-out plan of action, had been captured by a surveillance camera on a nearby building. They were identified, declared wanted and arrested somewhere down in the south of the country, near Krasnodar. Upon their delivery to Moscow, they were both given a serious going over and confessed everything they knew. And at this point the investigation stalled: Danilov was dead, and Sakhnov had disappeared without a trace. Brevich’s ex-wife was summoned for questioning and released – there was no evidence against her.

Ivan followed the investigation through his main contact in the police – Colonel Sibiryakov, the head of the city department. The whole chain of events – in particular, the death of “Sanyok” and the disappearance of “Valyok” – made logical sense to him and fitted into a coherent picture. Brevich had no doubt: the crime was nothing more than an attempt by his childhood friends to avenge themselves on him. He wasn’t surprised, but not about to forgive anyone either. Through Sibiryakov, he met the warden of the jail, where the perpetrators were being held, and had a private meeting with him. The latter was reluctant at first but soon heeded Ivan’s arguments and agreed to take his money. It was not just that the amount was huge. The abduction of a wife, by any “criminal standards,” was considered beyond the pale. The warden secretly prided himself on having retained at least a hankering for fairness, despite his job.

On the same day, both perpetrators – who had up until then been detained with other former servicemen – were placed in a punishment cell for a contrived reason and then separated and transferred to so-called black cells full of hardened criminals. Their training and toughness counted for nothing there. Soon both were badly crippled and afterward, half dead but still capable of perceiving what was happening, put through every imaginable and unimaginable humiliation and torture. Then, having lost any resemblance to human beings, they were eliminated. Ivan was presented with a detailed report, which did nothing to reduce his inner pain. Yet it spurred him into action, into implementing the main, most important thing.

Brevich did not have a specific plan; he only had an inkling: to find what he was looking for, he had to be in Bangkok. There was no logic behind it – except the memory of the outpouring of emotions during his first week together with Nok. For Ivan, however, this was a sufficient argument: the city had helped him meet the only woman he had ever loved – he would now have to rely on it to resolve a similar if not more difficult matter. He had nothing else to rely on.

A month after the funeral, Brevich was sitting in a Thai Airlines jet again. This was his third trip to Thailand, a trip of determination, a one-way journey. Ivan didn’t plan to come back; he knew: his present existence would end there – having been transformed into something new and again filled with meaning. And of all possible meanings, he was interested in only one.

During the flight, Brevich was thinking about death, as he had been constantly over the last few weeks. Previously, before Nok had appeared in his life, he, like most other people, regarded death as something abstract, not related to him personally. It was a topic that never loomed fully into view – but now the question of nonexistence and its nature had arisen in its entirety. There was no dismissing it; its scale could not be diminished. He needed to find an answer – a convincing, consistent one that he himself would be able to believe in without reservation… Brevich was well aware how challenging this was. How difficult it would be to search through the vaguest matters, in the impenetrable darkness, counting only on instinct. Nevertheless, he had no doubt that a solution would arise sooner or later.

The necessary conditions were clear: it was vital that he and Nok meet again, not in the form of plants or stones but as entities with consciousness and a soul. They would have to be able to recognize each other; their memories must be kept intact. A resurrection of this sort here in the earthly world was impossible; otherwise, everyone would have known about it. That meant that existence continues somewhere beyond – this is how the idea of another space accessible from this one had gained traction in his head. Ivan sometimes even thought about it in terms of complex metrics, other dimensions, curved planes and spheres – recalling fragments of the knowledge he had picked up at college. But he could not go any further in this way – his thoughts kept slipping up on science fiction clichés, which he did not take seriously.

In his search for ideas, Brevich had been reading books all month. He dismissed the scientific literature immediately as being beyond his understanding and plunged into the psycho-spiritual and the mystically religious. The notions and canons of Jews, Hindus and Buddhists intermingled in his mind, feeding each other. He jumped from concept to concept – from Sheol to Maimonides, from the Upanishads and Sansara to the treatises of Lao Tzu, from the magical formulas of the Egyptian Book of the Dead to the grim ancient Greek myths. Sometimes it seemed he had almost found the answer; then, on the contrary, everything that had ever been conceived by humanity appeared hopelessly naive and unworthy. Sometimes – painfully, almost agonizingly – he felt that his dimmed mind couldn’t cope with the contradictions, incapable of withstanding the abyss he was trying to peer into. Despair rolled over him; it was always waiting nearby, but Ivan only gritted his teeth, not letting it get the upper hand. Not allowing himself to give up and lose the hope for which he had a basis – the city where it had all begun. Bangkok had to provide him with the nudge, sending him in the right direction, leading him to clarity, to a resolution.

Exiting the terminal for the taxi stand and breathing in the thick, humid air, Brevich was even more convinced this was precisely the place he needed to be. He reserved the same penthouse in the same hotel in Chitlom where he and Nok had spent several happy days. In the suite, walking through the rooms and glancing out of the window at the panorama of buildings stretching below, Ivan felt: he had come back home. This was his fortress, his citadel, his outpost; from here he was ready to plan and conduct the final battle with the whole world. To fight the evil circumstances and forces that he wanted and had to conquer.

Brevich spent the first week after his arrival in apparent inaction. He wanted to synchronize himself with the city’s rhythm, to get a feeling he was on its wavelength. He woke up around noon and sat in the restaurant for a while, picking at a late breakfast; then he would call a taxi. Without any haste, he would again drive and walk around all those places he had been to with Nok. Vigilantly peering at people, objects, at the entire surroundings, as if trying to read and unravel some encrypted code.

On the very first day, he went to Nok’s old excursion bureau, which had now been turned into a gift shop. The owner, a tiny young Thai woman, started speaking to him, offering something, but then suddenly became frightened and fell silent under his gaze. Brevich turned away, put on his dark glasses, had a look at the shelves with various trinkets and left without saying goodbye. Then he drove to Muang Boran and spent an hour sitting by the entrance of the house on stilts. The next morning, he went to Tonburi, stopped by the floating market, bought an orchid in a phial and carried it around with him all day. In the ancient Ayutthaya, he wandered around for a long time in the heat, then went to the canal and looked out toward the opposite shore. Unlike the River Styx, it was impossible to cross over to uncover the concealed riddles. Neither a boat steered by some Thai Charon nor Persephone’s golden branch would have been of help…

Bangkok was in no hurry to provide any clues, hiding under a different mask. Brevich knew the face behind the mask but understood that the city had no reason to reveal it – now that Nok was no longer here. Ivan was all alone in his fortress; no army was rushing to his aid. Everything and everyone around was supremely indifferent to his loss – like his acquaintances in Moscow, like Colonel Sibiryakov, like the Thai Airlines flight attendants… He was right to have come to hate the world – the world was false in all its attempts to show concern. Brevich felt this falseness in every glance, in every Thai smile and recalled Lothar’s words: Bangkok was a city of the fake. It was its favorite incarnation, its most natural state – but, despite this, Ivan believed: sooner or later, something authentic would emerge. He would just need to recognize it.

Still, nothing true had emerged yet, and Brevich waited, following his established routine. In the evening, after dinner, he would go to the rooftop bar, open his notebook and try to write down some daily thoughts, seeking hidden substance in them. This would soon make him bored, and he just looked at the night panorama, spread out like a sky map. He counted the clusters of bright dots and gave them names, mentally drawing a line from one “galaxy” to another. He followed the play of the illuminations and, most of all, the signal lights on the tops of the skyscrapers, whose reflections flashed on and off in the windows as if calling to each other. Ivan saw in them allies; they were sending signs to the airplanes never going to fly here. They were signaling to the unresponsive; they strived tirelessly, despite the surrounding indifference, and he respected their efforts.

Once the bar closed, Brevich would walk to his room, lie on the bed for half an hour, then jump up, put on a pair of worn shorts and a T-shirt and head out into the night. He would take a taxi or wander off into the most impoverished, unsightly areas, walking through a web of narrow streets, strolling among the garbage dumps and ruins, the shaky houses and smelly canals. He stumbled and slipped in the dark, blundered into some rusty barbed wire or a half-rotten picket fence. Frightened by his crazed gaze, the local punks and stray dogs gave him a wide berth. Neither the dirt nor the stench bothered him. He knew he had to dive as deep as possible into the city’s core. He had to get so close to the city that nothing would separate them – and perhaps then a signal would flash, a hint would be heard…

Toward morning, tired and soaked, his eyes inflamed, he would take a taxi to Soi Cowboy. The go-go bars were already closed; the priestesses of paid love had changed their outfits and had transformed back into ordinary country girls. They crowded around the street-food stalls, plastic tables and chairs, eating their late dinner, laughing and chatting with each other. Brevich bought a large bottle of Thai brandy, put it on the first table he came across, said “please” and silently drank until dawn with anyone who cared to join in. After a couple of days, the girls got used to him; no one looked at him in surprise or bothered him with questions. Some of them tried to sell him their services but soon gave up. They simply made a place and laid out food for him, which he almost never touched…

Then Ivan suddenly realized he needed to change his tactics. Some other action was required – and he already sensed what it should be. Superfluous, inept options fell away by themselves. Only one remained: Brevich was almost physically drawn to the environment where he had once touched upon the secret of the Thai soul. For two nights in a row, he dreamed the same thing – a voice from a loudspeaker, the concentrated and peaceful faces of the Thais and Nok’s quiet whisper translating words that for some reason seemed familiar to him. Somewhere, in all of this, the essence of Siam was concealed, along with the essence of this city wearing its mask, pretending to be something it wasn’t. Like a clown at the fair, it was adopting one guise after another, fooling the gullible with its smog and bustle, its girly bars and counterfeit junk. But Brevich was not to be deceived; he saw the entrance to the secret sluices. Concealed there was what the city and its inhabitants believed in. And Nok had believed in it as well – perhaps this was what she had been hinting at in her message? Maybe this was the starting point – from which the path he was seeking originated?

The next day, Ivan went to the nearest Buddhist temple. He managed to find a monk who was ready to talk to a farang, but the conversation did not work out. Besides, Brevich was irritated by the monk himself – still a young man, resembling a wily street peddler – and the tone of their discourse, which had nothing sacred about it. What’s more, they understood each other badly – the language barrier was too great.

Nevertheless, using gestures and grimaces, they talked for about half an hour. The monk tried to speak about karma and the futility of human desires and then suddenly switched to the theme of the visibility of images, of the real in the unreal. “You have to think about your wife every moment, imagine her with you, keep her face before your eyes,” he said. “You should see it as if in reality – like when you’ve smoked your fill of dope. Like when your mind starts swimming during an amazing trip…”

Brevich noted that the monk spoke about dope and trips with suspicious confidence. Then he was asked to donate a thousand baht for the temple’s needs, and with that, the audience ended.

“Can you introduce me to any of the elders?” Ivan asked as they made their farewells.

“My English is the best in the monastery,” the monk sneered. “The elders won’t understand a word!”

It was evident he was quite pleased with himself. Ivan nodded glumly and left, utterly irritated. Once again, the indifference of the world struck the eye, enveloped him from all sides. There was no one with whom he could unite against it.

Later he visited two more temples – with much the same result. Yet he had no doubt: the starting point had been identified correctly. It just wasn’t easy to get to it – and the main hurdle was the difficulties with the language. So, in the evening Brevich opened his laptop and entered “Bangkok English Thai interpreter” into the search bar. At first, numerous companies jumped out; he gave them a miss and clicked on the first link leading to someone’s personal page. There was a phone number – Ivan dialed it and heard the voice of Dara. They made an appointment to meet the next day, and this was the turning point for his whole “project.”

Chapter 28

Dara, the freelance interpreter, had been born in eastern Thailand, in Buriram, the “city of happiness.” Her mother was half Khmer, and her strong Khmer blood manifested itself clearly in Dara with her dark skin, stubborn disposition and fiery temper, which she sometimes struggled to keep in check. She was the only girl in her family and the firstborn – it was therefore considered only natural that the responsibility for providing for the household should be laid on her shoulders. Thus, at the age of sixteen, without finishing school, Dara found herself in Bangkok – where her virginity was sold to one of the bars. And before that, her mother had taken her to Cambodia, to a distant relative, a female shaman, who put an invisible tattoo onto her pubic region that would render her irresistible to men.

Dara did not hold any grudges against her family, but she realized she could only count on herself in life. On herself and on good fortune – so she diligently prayed to the goddess of happiness, Nang Kwak, every day of the six years she spent as a “bar fairy,” leaving sweets in the temple and lighting at least two candles each visit. And then, at the age of twenty-two, fate cast her a winning ticket – an elderly Englishman fell in love with her and took her back to live with him in London. It was a tremendous piece of luck – Dara understood: Nang Kwak had deigned to smile down upon her. Although, she conceded, perhaps the tattoo had also played a role – so, after all, the family might have given her more than she had originally thought.

She lived with the Englishman for seven years; then he died, and Dara returned to Bangkok – with good English and some money. This allowed her to lead the independent life of a freelancer, providing services to foreign tourists and businessmen that ranged widely from interpretation to massage and, sometimes, bed. Yet Dara was discerning and did not waste herself on just anyone. She never forgot her goal: to find a new source of wealth that would be sufficient for a long time to come.

From the first words exchanged with Brevich over the phone, Dara sensed this was no ordinary occasion. And when she met him, she understood two things right away: he was rich, and something seemed to be wrong with his mind. It was a promising combination; Dara’s internal sensors shuddered, pulsed and flickered into life. She immediately turned on the charm and her ability to be attuned to whatever a man might want at any given moment. And it worked, as it always did: Brevich suddenly felt that besides the silent skyscraper lights, he had found another ally in the city – someone who wasn’t indifferent to his problem.

Before the meeting, Ivan hadn’t planned to be too candid. He had invented a cover story, pretending he was writing a book about the afterlife and was traveling the world, collecting material for it. But Dara listened so attentively, and her gaze betrayed so much empathy, that he, imperceptibly even to himself, began to open up and little by little told her everything as it was.

They spent over three hours together in a French café at Lumpini Park. Brevich recounted the entire story about Nok: their passionate days in Bangkok, her pregnancy and their wedding, then her death and cremation. He hinted at “the other Sun” and revealed his decision to follow in her footsteps, to find her again, no matter how fantastical that might sound. He talked about his childhood buddies, Sanyok and Valyok, who had become his worst enemies, depriving his life of any meaning. About his business and former wives, about his plan, which had yet to take shape, and the words of the Buddha, which he had heard together with Nok…

Dara didn’t ask questions; she sat silently, propping up her cheek with her hand. It was becoming clearer and clearer that the rarest stroke of luck was knocking on her door again. She knew farangs, coming to Thailand with their plans – they were all losers, cherishing the hope of avenging themselves on fate in one way or another. All of them were weak, and their thirst for revenge, their obsession with proving the unprovable, were transferred onto the only Thais willing to have any dealings with them – the girls from the bars, in whom they sought consolation for their grievances. Brevich wasn’t like that – he didn’t look like a loser or a weakling – but all the same, fate had caused him the most terrible grief… There was a deep contradiction concealed in this, and Dara could not quite grasp it, turn it into a clear idea. But she had a feeling: it contained an opportunity, a great chance. Everything was for real and for high stakes – Ivan wasn’t going to waste time on trifles or half measures.

By the end of the conversation, Brevich was on thin ice – he had stumbled into a jungle of unclear meanings, into poorly fitting fragments he had drawn from his reading or invented himself. He began to jump from one to another – from outer spaces to the dharma of the ocean, from kabbalistic reincarnation to the parables of Ecclesiastes, asserting the dualism of “predestination” and the rejection of death. Soon he became confused and began to contradict himself – getting angry but continuing to pile complication upon complication.

Dara came to his aid – carefully choosing her words. “I understand what you’re talking about,” she encouraged him gently. “And you know, everything could turn out to be much simpler…”

Ivan grinned and looked away, but she caught the shadow of his gaze. She caught a glimpse – a flash of hope – and this, too, was familiar to her. Nearly every aspect of farangs’ lives was incomprehensible to themselves and others. They were all subconsciously searching for simplifications, certain elementary truths – it was a lever that Dara had learned to manipulate to perfection. Just like her old barroom companions – and because of this, hordes of men with experience, education, families and money would fall with surprising consistency into the most naive of traps set by their barely literate Thai temptresses. The Western mind – whether sick, like Brevich’s, or ordinary, healthy and rational – would turn out to be powerless in the face of primitive cunning, as if it, the mind, only needed an excuse to capitulate and surrender. Thai girls didn’t try to rationalize what was happening in their lives. They just believed that the flow of events would carry them where they needed to be – and their natural lack of doubt made their words immensely persuasive. One by one, dozen by dozen, hundred by hundred, their clients would be deceived – despite the numerous warning tales that filled the net. All farangs badly needed simplifying formulas, and Dara understood that Brevich, too, would be unable to resist despite all his strength and wealth…

That evening, Ivan changed his routine – he didn’t go to the hotel bar or wander off into the night. The silent lights sending their signals no longer attracted his attention – a new supporter had emerged, and the signs became different. Not everything about them boded well – they seemed to worry him more than lead anywhere. A light had dawned at the end of a tunnel, but he could still barely make it out. It was unreliable, maybe even misleading… Brevich suddenly feared that he might be late – but did not understand what for. He spent the whole evening and half the night sitting at his laptop fruitlessly searching for new clues, revisiting links from one prophet, one religion and one sacred text to another – only to become more confused. Then he finally fell asleep, but just for a little while: the tension would not leave him; his damaged mind hurtled around in a circle. The thoughts were becoming increasingly feverish and restless, jumping from one futile idea to another.

In the afternoon, Dara took him to a temple built recently with money from an influential police boss. Tourists didn’t go there; its grounds with a large park were deserted and very quiet. They were met by an elderly monk who led them deep into the park and sat on a mat under a sprawling tree. He resembled a boa constrictor; there was something serpentine about his manner. Perhaps somewhere deep inside him beat the heart of a snake. For some reason, this made a positive impression on Brevich.

Dara took a long time to explain what their business was. Finally, the monk stopped her, indicating with a gesture that everything was clear. Then, gazing to one side, he said, “We’re all scared of death but, if one ought to fear anything, it should rather be the rebirth that will follow it.” Dara translated. Ivan nodded in agreement. This was easy to agree with: of course, the danger lay in the chance that out there, afterward, he might not get to meet Nok. The monk meditated a bit and added, “It is harder for those who remain behind” – and Brevich became confident they understood each other well.

Then the conversation started – the monk, with his eyes half closed, spoke for a while about the Buddhist way. “Calm is within us… Compassion and tolerance… At the core of everything is the law of karma…” Dara translated diligently. Soon Brevich’s patience evaporated; he began to get agitated, fidgeting and breathing heavily. The turmoil of the last night returned; his mind continued to race round in circles. The circuitous phrases made him even more confused and distracted. Ivan began to look angry and finally raised his hand.

The monk immediately fell silent. “Tell him we don’t have time for bullshit,” Brevich said sullenly to Dara. “Ask him where she is waiting for me; how do I get there? I need a place, a time, a way.”

Dara translated the entire tirade to the monk, noting his barely perceptible smile at the English word “bullshit.” “Oh, and here’s another thing…” Brevich suddenly started up, but the monk raised his palm in turn, interrupting him midsentence, and calmly said, “You are at the very beginning, but you want to jump right away to the end. That’s why you think time and place are so important. But you see, the end is not the end – not by a long shot – and this, in fact, is the whole point.”

Brevich fixed him with his gaze. Then he turned to Dara, “What? What did he say?”

Dara repeated everything. Ivan nodded silently and stared at the monk again.

“The moment of novelty follows another moment,” the latter mumbled monotonously. “Drop by drop, the lake becomes full. Your karma changes, and every change is inextricably linked with the previous ones, with every reflection on the lake’s surface. One candle is lit by another; a new flame comes into existence – but can you distinguish it by sight? No, it has the same essence; it’s the same candle flame… I have answers to your questions, but you must accept what I say with all your heart. You must pass the words through your heart; otherwise, they will mean nothing to you.”

Dara translated, thinking that Brevich would now become even more anxious, but he just briefly promised, “I’ll accept.”

The monk looked at Ivan sharply, then closed his eyes again and continued, “There is the energy of life and there is something that directs life. There is an energy of the will – of your own will – it is hidden deep inside you, but it’s still more powerful than anything else. Time changes your karma and your ability to govern your life. The energy of the will is the quintessence of karma: the pollen in the flower, the summary of all that you are. At the right moment, it and nothing else can carry you – from flame to flame, to a new existence, to a new shell… Do you understand what I am saying?”

Ivan thought and said, “I have the will.” And he added, “I know how to govern my life.”

The monk nodded, paused and spoke again, “The world of life – the world of the body – is not the main point. There is a cause, the most primordial one – it’s the world of experiences, the reflection of the flame in innumerable mirrors. This is how the energy of your will manifests itself – and hurls you inside the flow from one world into another, where your flame takes shape, turns into life itself. If the flows draw close to each other, if their pulsations are similar, then the worlds in which the flame will relight can coincide…”

For another quarter of an hour, he talked about energies, about rebirth and karma, the sequence of incarnations and the continuity of manifestations. Brevich listened without interrupting, feeling that something was really penetrating his heart. In a hazy mixture, in a fever of thought, the germ of the fruit crystallized. The circle was converging toward a certain dot – there was no need to interfere, only to remain patient for a little while.

“You cannot leave the flow, and you cannot swim against it, but the flow can bring you to your goal. Your will is capable of helping, but remember: it’s only a form of karma, nothing else,” the monk said and fell silent.

Brevich also paused, listening to himself, and asked in a strange voice, “But there, near the goal, in the new flame, whatever it’s called… There, in the new world, if it happens to be the same for us, will we be able to recognize each other?”

“I won’t say ‘yes,’” the monk shrugged. “The Buddha does not teach there’s some unchanging ‘I’ that passes with its life experience from one life to another. But I won’t say ‘no’ either – because the Buddha himself remembered his past lives. Why shouldn’t you experience recognition – for instance, by sensing your mutual closeness?”

Dara translated this word for word and immediately regretted she hadn’t exaggerated it a bit, but Brevich seemed quite satisfied with the answer. He sat quietly, without changing his posture, only squinting slightly – the sun had broken through the branches, playfully dappling his face. Now he had no doubt: the point of the resolution was getting closer. He and the monk were progressing toward it gradually, one move after another, like in a game of chess, together building a position on the board.

“You need to know,” the monk spoke again. “There are three basic types of karma. The first, the foremost, is ‘weighty’ karma, as the Buddha called it. It is determined by the most consequential, the most significant actions. Those that changed your life, made you different. And I must be frank with you: sometimes damage to the karma is irreversible. Thus I have to ask you – have you ever had to kill?”

Brevich thought: it was just as well that Danilov was dead and “Valyok” Sakhnov had disappeared without a trace and could not be found. He had often fantasized how he would break their bones and pump them full of bullets. With enough money, it was quite possible this fantasy could have been turned into reality… The killing of the two perpetrators in jail didn’t count, he decided. They weren’t important, and besides, he hadn’t carried out the act with his own hands.

“No,” said Brevich firmly. “I’ve seen a lot, but I’ve never had to kill.”

“Let it be so, but still…” the monk kept on. His serpentine eyes looking into Ivan’s soul. “But still: you see, you’ve never previously taken the teachings of the Buddha seriously. You did not know the Path and have now decided to embark on the Path. What caused you to choose it? What gave you the impulse to turn your gaze toward it?”

“A few lines written down in a notebook,” Brevich said.

“No,” the monk shook his head. “I think your answer is too hasty. Those lines were just the final straw. Listen to yourself intently – and be honest.”

Ivan thought a few minutes and quietly but clearly said, “The pain.”

Dara translated and noted – both the word itself and the way Brevich pronounced it. The monk nodded in satisfaction as if he had been waiting for this very answer himself. “Good,” he said, “now I believe you.”

The chess game continued, the figures moving slowly like the shadows of the branches on the grass. Dara took out a bottle of water and offered it to Ivan, but he refused, waving it away. And, after a long weary pause, he asked, “What is the second type of karma?”

“The ‘karma of habit,’” the monk replied. “A reflection of what is happening every day. The result of what you do repeatedly, without thinking, without noticing. It seems imperceptible, unimportant, but the vessel fills up – life is long. And thus it transpires that the influence of the routine is very great.”

Brevich thought about his habits. He couldn’t recall any persistent ones, except, perhaps, his liking for alcohol.

“Yes, I understand,” he nodded. “Repetitive, unnoticeable… And what is the third?”

The monk paused, bowing his head. Then he raised his eyes and spoke softly, looking Brevich directly in the eyes, “Before you are born again, you must die. Your ‘end-of-life karma’ provides the impetus for your rebirth – this is the third type. Karma on the eve of death – it’s shaped by what you are feeling, perceiving in your final moment. And in your case, this might be the most important of all.”

Dara translated. Brevich listened and became thoughtful, retreated into himself. Having reflected, he frowned and was visibly alarmed. The point of resolution was near, but he couldn’t step toward it. The tension in his brain intensified even more; some abscess was growing there.

He cleared his throat and spoke with an effort, trying to make his voice sound even, “Regarding me, it’s clear, but my Nok, did she… What did she manage to perceive and think about before her death? What was her impulse, where did it take her? We do not and cannot know!”

“Your Nok,” the monk said calmly, “is still thinking about it to this day.”

“You mean?…” Brevich exclaimed, his forehead creased with suffering. Something started to ring in his head; he was finding it difficult to control himself. What the monk had said excited his hopes, misconceptions and doubts all the more. He completely ceased to sense what could be believed and what could not. His mind was frozen at the peak of a mountain, on the tip of a needle, barely keeping its balance.

The monk shrugged, “There’s nothing to question here. She was killed; she died before her age of death – which is why her spirit has not found rest; it is still troubled. Rushing about, searching, waiting for a sign…”

“Her spirit?” Brevich interrupted him, squeezing his face with his hand and swaying backward and forward. Then he stopped, let out a loud curse and burst into laughter. Dara and the monk stared at him in alarm. His eyes were crazed; the feral grin on his face looked genuinely scary.

“Her spirit!” Ivan repeated and muttered a few Russian words. He grimaced, gritted his teeth – and suddenly his facial features smoothed out, the grin disappeared. He shook his head and asked Dara, “Please, could you repeat this.”

She began to translate again, word for word. Brevich nodded, listening not so much to her but to the dissonance of his thoughts. They gyrated around some kind of stable center. “A restless spirit,” Ivan said quietly and stared downward, fidgeting with the weave of the mat.

He knew: he had just experienced a revelation like the one he had had in Nok’s room. The vitalizing freshness of simplicity replaced suffocating complexity. The truth of simplicity – he had been wandering in a maze and now he had found his way out. The abscess of his consciousness burst forth; his mind no longer balanced on a summit. His thoughts, which had been dancing on a needle, tumbled downward to the foothills, into one of the valleys. What the monk said was the final push that made everything clear.

Of course, the words spoken were naive, but in them, beyond them, as if behind a nondescript shell, the most important of contents was concealed. Everything fell into place; the epitome of the faith he had been trying to elicit from the city took on a specific form – a restless ghost seeking the same thing that he was. Other concepts, teachings, dogmas, theories quickly faded away, turned into dust…

Brevich raised his head and looked around as if reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Then he said in a firm, irrefutable voice, “First: How do we find her spirit? And second: How can we get into contact with it? I need details – of a very practical kind!”

The monk began to mumble – about the wanderings of ghosts and the fates that awaited them. There was nothing practical in his words, but Ivan was hearing something completely different. The game of chess continued, but the pieces on the board were now being marshaled by another player. Dara had entered the game – and was making moves for everyone.

She did not need any help: the ghosts of the dead, scurrying everywhere, occupied a large place in her picture of the world. Like any Thai woman, Dara knew a lot about them and could discuss the topic for hours. Now, under the guise of translation, she was making things up on the go – how Nok’s spirit had remained close at hand to the unsuspecting Ivan. How it had followed him everywhere and, of course, had returned with him to Bangkok – for where else could it go to gain its freedom? From who else would it expect a sign signaling its liberation, if not from the man Nok was in love with? Even now it was circling somewhere nearby, finding temporary shelter for itself, as all spirits do, in someone it had chosen at random. And this “someone” would appear in due time, would make himself or herself known, ending up nearby. All that was needed was not to miss this chance…

Ivan listened carefully without asking questions. The image, the long-awaited solution to the puzzle, was forming in his head. And Dara fantasized swiftly, sensing that her own chance was waiting nearby and she must not let it slip through her fingers. And indeed, it really did soon arise.

The monk suddenly stopped talking, raised his head, as if looking for something in the crown of the tree, and, after a pause, said quietly, “But there is one problem.”

Dara translated, and Brevich grimaced – this was not the time for new problems.

“You want to run ahead,” the monk continued, “but we must go back to the beginning. I assume your Nok was a good girl?”

Ivan nodded grimly. “Then,” the monk shrugged, “you’re facing a difficult task. According to the law, your karma should be no worse than that of the person with whom you want to be reborn together. Your wife’s karma was pure, but what is yours? Are you ready to make the effort to render it better, cleaner?”

Dara readied herself: it was clear the goddess Nang Kwak had given her a cue. In the game of chess the time had come to bring the queen into play. She translated the monk’s words but changed the question slightly by adding, “Are you ready to give a lot?”

“I am ready,” Brevich answered firmly. “What exactly do I need to do?”

He could barely restrain his impatience. Evidently, the problem that had arisen had a solution – which meant he would solve it.

“He says he wants to help with money,” Dara translated to the monk. “He wants to give it to the poor – this will improve his karma, right?…”

Thus, the subject of money arose, causing the monk to become quite animated. He burst into a speech stating that, yes, helping the poor was the right way, but one cannot just buy karma in a single transaction. Giving to the poor must become a habit – hence forming a karma of habit. This must be done as a routine, almost imperceptible to yourself.

“Buddha lived one of his lives as King Vissantara,” the monk said. “Having become enlightened, Vissantara chose generosity as his main tenet. He donated to peasants his luxury carriage, then his horses and servants. He gave his wealth and title to his brothers. He sent his children to work on someone else’s farm and even gave away his magic white elephant…”

This all played into Dara’s hands; she didn’t even have to add anything. Brevich listened, nodded, memorized, looking intently at the monk’s face. The latter’s steady serpentine gaze was easy to believe.

After the story of Vissantara, the monk considered the subject of money to be over. He again began to speak about the path of a true Buddhist, about abstinence and rituals, ceremonies and prayers, but Dara “translated” something quite different. She firmly stuck to the single concept: the need for Ivan to donate. The need to rid himself of his possessions, which only hindered him. The need to make life easier for others – this was the best recipe, perhaps the only one available. This was the way to ascend the karmic ladder, to step from one level to another, to feel like the ancient king – although, of course, not everyone had a magical elephant to part with. Ivan didn’t have one either – yet perhaps he still had enough to achieve his goal…

“From one level to another…” Brevich repeated after her. His brain was computing what he had heard and was finding no flaws in it. Everything sounded right, aligning with his own views on how fate might be working.

“A white elephant, ha?” he grinned. “One can buy an elephant too… Anyway. Tell him that I can, I am ready to help the poor, even whole villages – but what will happen next?”

Dara had a ready answer to this. She asked the monk something, listened to his long tirade and mistranslated the reply: “You have no guarantee. There is only a chance, and you can turn it to your advantage. Sooner or later, Nok’s spirit will make itself known. It will be next to you, everything will converge, and then – if your karma is ready – you will find freedom together, simultaneously, with your thoughts directed toward each other. Alas, it’s impossible to demand more, but this is still a lot – at least, much depends on you yourself in this case!”

“Probably…” Ivan muttered and felt that yes, he could not demand any more. Neither from the monk with his snakelike demeanor nor from others – anything extra would be too good to be true.

“It’s important to remember what the Buddha said – ‘by oneself, one is purified,’” said the monk, summing up and indicating that the meeting had come to an end.

“It’s important to remember that generosity knows no limits,” Dara “translated.”

“‘Our spirit will still remain and seek out through the need of attachment,’” the monk quoted, getting up from the ground.

At that Dara muttered, “That’s strange…” On the street outside the temple gate she touched Brevich by the sleeve.

“Do you know what he said at our parting?” she asked with a short laugh. “This is a Thai saying, and it means something like ‘Hold on to your star; it will show you the way.’ But my name translates as ‘star’ in English. Maybe it was not by chance that we met?”

Brevich smiled with her. Then she said, “Are you satisfied with my work? Do you think you may still need my help? Bear in mind: in this country, as soon as anyone finds out you have money, they will try to cheat you in every way.”

Brevich frowned, thought for a moment and asked, “Would you like to work with me for a week or two, maybe three? I’ll pay you well.”

“What can I say?” Dara sighed. “I’ve already started; how could I now leave you halfway through? It wouldn’t be right – and I need to care about my karma too…”

In the taxi, she asked Brevich, “Where to? The hotel?”

“Yes, to the hotel, to the bar,” Ivan answered. He urgently needed a drink; the conversation in the temple had drained him of his strength. But he couldn’t complain, of course – so much had been revealed to him at last! His head still rang a little, but the feverish agitation was almost gone.

In the bar, Ivan, despite his drinking habits and resistance to alcohol, quickly got drunk. Then he continued to drink in his penthouse, which he retired to together with Dara, taking a bottle of gin along with him. Finding herself with a drunk farang in a hotel room, Dara felt entirely in her element. It was so easy to anticipate his desires, to make him happy…

They spent the whole afternoon together. Dara ordered food; she almost spoon-fed Brevich and topped up his drinks, ensuring he did not sober up. Ivan relaxed completely; his mind, weary of fighting insanity, gave insanity the upper hand. It was granted the freedom to do whatever it wanted – however, Brevich himself did not want much; he just needed rest.

He mumbled something with a meaningless smile on his face, “The jagged edge of an eggshell in a nest… A diamond cutting glass-aluminum… In the crack of a gate, a ragged goldfinch…” It was so pleasant – to enjoy the absurdity to the full. Dara nodded to him, stroked his arm. She did not understand the phrases he was mumbling, but she sensed: no words could become an obstacle for her anymore.

Later in the evening, she dragged him to the bathroom and washed him with soapy water, whipping up the foam. Then she began to give him a massage in the bedroom – during it she casually undressed herself, but they didn’t get any further than that; Ivan simply fell asleep. “Well, okay,” Dara said out loud. She poured herself a gin, put on a lavish bathrobe and went to the window.

Bangkok beamed, played, sparkled with light. It emanated waves of seduction, the itch of desire, the energy of action. Dara flung open her robe, revealing herself to the city, and bit her lip – her own desire was becoming acute. A lot of money loomed up ahead, and this, coupled with the iridescent lights prostrated before her, excited her in earnest.

She ran her hand between her legs and turned toward Brevich. He lay on his back, completely naked, snoring softly.

“Shall we have a bit of fun…” Dara murmured, throwing off her robe and stepping toward Ivan. He did not look like he was going to wake up. She took his hand, stroked herself with it, then climbed onto the bed and crouched over his face, sensing the moisture draining out of her. Brevich was still snoring; carefully Dara lowered herself onto him and buried her slippery crotch onto his face. He breathed heavily, smacking his lips. “O-oh…” she moaned, approaching her climax. And then again, “Oh, oh, oh-oh…”

Her desire was unbearable; Dara almost lost control of herself. She crawled all over Ivan, screaming and moaning, pinching his nipples. When she was coming, he groaned too – succumbing to her emotions, she had pinched him too hard, digging in with her sharp nails. But Dara couldn’t think of this; her convulsions shook her. Only after taking a short breath did she notice that one of Brevich’s nipples was almost bleeding – and that his manhood was irrepressibly rearing skyward.

“Wow,” she whispered; then, with skillful hands, she brought Ivan to orgasm. He still didn’t wake up, just turned over onto his side and stopped snoring, now breathing silently, peacefully, like a big child. Dara covered him with a sheet and sat next to him for a while, looking at his powerful shoulders. Then she wrote him a note with a promise to call the next morning, got dressed and went back to her apartment.

Chapter 29

The next day, Dara invited Brevich to lunch. She arrived in a simple pants suit, not even a hint of frivolity. Right away, she announced she wasn’t hungry, ordering just a coffee and some sponge cake. And she proceeded to break off small pieces from it, affectedly sticking her pinky out – in the same way she had seen English ladies do when she was living in London.

Brevich, for his part, ate with a hearty appetite, despite his hangover. He felt full of strength and looked purposeful, ready for action. The notion of Nok’s restless spirit was fixed in his head firmly. He had been thinking about it all morning, becoming more and more convinced that the monk was right, that a solution had been found and the plan was almost clear.

Only the technical details remained, and it was precisely about these that Dara was speaking, with Ivan listening in silence. She described the needy and the poor, about those in difficulty whose wretched lives could be eased by Brevich’s money. The farmers’ families living in poverty whose land had been taken away. The girls who were sold to go-go bars. The homeless children of both sexes who swarmed the streets of Bangkok – those whom the mafia networks would inevitably force into street begging or petty thievery and the sweeter-looking ones into sleeping with rich perverts…

Hearing about the children, Brevich felt a lump rise in his throat. He remembered his and Nok’s child, destined never to be born, his heir and successor. No grief or poverty were awaiting him; on the contrary, only the happiest of destinies, but this had not made any difference…

The muscles in Ivan’s face froze; his fists clenched tight. Dara noticed something was up but, not knowing how to react, continued to speak. After a minute, Brevich managed to control himself, cleared his throat and stopped her with an impatient gesture. “I have decided,” he said. “It will be children.”

“Very good,” Dara nodded. “I’ll get in touch with someone today. But I have to have an idea about the amount – at least an approximate one.”

“Let it be ten million,” Ivan shrugged. “Well, give or take… It just needs to be divided into portions. So that it becomes like a habit.”

“Ten million Thai baht?” Dara clarified. It was a lot of money: the price of a very nice house.

“US dollars,” Brevich grunted and went back to his tom-yam soup, which was causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead. After eating two more spoonfuls, he continued, “Well, if everything goes right, you can double it – why not. If it really becomes a habit…”

“Oh, okay,” Dara nodded. “I see.”

She was almost speechless, lost for words. “I can start searching and negotiating right away,” she barely managed to say.

“Well, yes,” said Brevich. “Right now. Why wait.”

Dara quickly wound up the conversation and left. In the taxi she was dizzy, so she asked the driver to crank up the air-conditioner, pinched herself and rubbed her cheeks. Then, in her small apartment, she immediately climbed into the shower – this always helped her to gather her spirits. So it turned out this time – wiping herself down with a towel, Dara felt able to reason sensibly again. At least two things were clear to her. First, despite the fantastic sum he’d mentioned, Brevich was not lying; he really did have this money. And second, her Khmer tattoo was not the main reason for the lucky breaks of her past, and now it was not being of any help. Because good fortune of this magnitude could only have been granted by the goddess Nang Kwak.

She sat with her legs up in a comfy chair and began to figure out her next steps. Soon a third thing became clear: she would not be able to deal with this alone; she needed a partner.

Of course, this greatly complicated everything. Dara knew it was always better not to involve anyone in your business – “partners” would most likely let you down or deceive you. You could only trust in yourself – but here this just wouldn’t work. The quantity Brevich had talked about went far beyond her usual purview. She had no idea how people who deal with such sums behave, how to move in their circles, what to say. This was unfamiliar territory to her, and thus, Dara concluded, she would make fatal mistakes. Because – she knew this for certain – very quickly someone would appear who would force her into making mistakes to catch her out with them. Big money attracts mean predators; she would not be able to cope with them on her own.

Fortunately, she had the right man in mind. Dara thought a little longer, then picked up her phone and dialed a number. “Hello, horny daddy,” she said briskly, “it’s me. Something new has cropped up; we need to meet – urgently! What are you doing after five?…”

Then, putting the cell down, she sat back in her chair and finally allowed herself to relax. She had done everything right and most probably had managed to take another step toward a new happy life. Toward some tempting future… Dara imagined Brevich, his heavy figure and sullen face. He was a strong man, but still, he had no chance against her cunning. Because behind it lay the treacherousness of Siam in all its entirety… She thought back to her childhood, to the slums of Buriram. Then to her youth spent in Bangkok bars, among farang clients. She remembered her past and whispered out loud, “So proud to be Thai!”

The man Dara was counting on was called Jeff. Once a successful Boston lawyer, he’d been caught fabricating legal documents, lost his license, abandoned his family and relocated to Thailand. He’d met Dara soon after her return from London – just like Brevich, he had contacted her for help with translation. Then he’d needed her assistance again; they became friends, occasionally slept together and soon saw through their first joint deal sending Thai-made fakes to Europe. Dara was great at smoothing things out with customs; Jeff was impressed by her composure and ability to hold her nerve. Then they worked together some more and got used to each other. Jeff saw big potential in Dara, and she, in turn, appreciated him as her “entry ticket” into the Western world – where serious money sloshed around and wealthy men were to be found.

Mainly, Jeff worked with investors who flew to Asia for an easy, not always legitimate, profit. He was also not averse to petty fraud, thanks to which he had made some acquaintances among the Thai police. During his five years in Bangkok, he had not yet lost his American polish – he knew how to wear good suits and, if necessary, look like “a million dollars.” Dara couldn’t have found a better partner for any kind of a serious put-up job.

They met at Jeff’s house, drank a little, had a laugh and a joke. Then he tried to drag her to bed, but Dara shooed him off. “Wait,” she whispered, “I’ve come here on an important matter – you have no idea how important. Yesterday I met a Russian psycho…”

She told Jeff the whole story. He did not believe her at first, but, after some thorough questioning, he was convinced she wasn’t making things up, trying to pull a fast one. That evening, they worked out a plan of action involving a scam that would see Brevich’s money ending up in a Hong Kong bank. And they agreed to open a joint account for this purpose the very next day through a banker Jeff used to work with.

Dara had clear doubts when it came to the bank account in faraway Hong Kong, where she didn’t know anybody. She demanded assurances that Jeff would not cheat her and pocket all the profits. He had to promise that the money could only be withdrawn from the account by the two of them, using an order with both of their signatures.

“Well, that’s fine,” said Dara. “Just remember, darling, if you blow me out, I’ll find a way to get even. As jealous Thai wives say, ‘I’ll give your dick to the ducks.’”

“What are you saying, honey? Why would I do that?” Jeff grinned, walking up behind her and running his hand under her T-shirt. “You and I have a long, bright future!” At the same moment, he was thinking it wouldn’t be difficult to copy Dara’s signature onto a fax.

“Only, there’s one thing I’m worried about,” he added, turning her to face him. “Are you sure this Russian has fallen for your bull completely? What if he suddenly suspects something and wriggles off the hook, having screwed you up every possible way first?”

“This is strange,” Dara thought. “Jeff is a serious man, of course, and we’ve done some real business together, but he still doesn’t understand the most obvious things…”

She, however, did not betray her surprise. She just shrugged and explained patiently what any bar girl knew by heart. “First,” she said, “farangs are stupid when it comes to money. Second, they are even more stupid when it comes to women. And third, he cannot get away, because…” And she declared with pleasure the favorite mantra of every night fairy from Sukhumvit to Patpong, from Pattaya to Phuket: “Because Thai pussy is number one!”

Two days later their scheme was ready. They had a meeting with Brevich, where Jeff showed his best side. He looked like a solid official, not some second-rate swindler. He introduced himself as the head of an international program, presented a business card for one of his charitable foundations and immediately offered to show the foundation’s website, which he had just created that day. The site looked no less impressive than Jeff himself. It was full of striking photos – using them as a backdrop, Dara told several stories about the starving children of Isaan, about them being sold to strangers in the capital by their parents and the efforts of the foundation to help them survive…

It all sounded and looked authentic. Consumed with anticipation, Brevich wanted to and did believe everything. He could not wait to make a start – Nok’s spirit seemed to be sending him silent signals: come quicker, quicker.

“What do you think,” he asked, “how frequently should I actually send the money? So that it’d be best for my karma.”

“Do it every morning before breakfast,” Dara suggested. “What could be more natural than a morning habit?”

Ivan felt that he, as always, had no objections to anything she said. The rightness of the simplicity gave her words an extraordinary persuasiveness.

The next morning, he made the first transfer. Then, after breakfast, Dara took him out of town. On the way, they drove into the market and bought two dozen live fish, which were placed in plastic bags of water.

“This is a good Buddhist gesture – it’s as if we are giving them a new life,” said Dara. They stopped at a pond in a small grove, went down to the water and began to set the fish free. Ivan watched in fascination as they beat their tails, then came back and ate the bread thrown by Dara. He smeared his face with the water they sprayed up and was as happy as a child – and she, looking at him, was happy too; they were almost sincerely full of joy and carefree. Then it was lunchtime, and a message came from Jeff to Dara in the restaurant that the “donation” had hit the account.

She told Ivan, “Your money has been received. I am so proud of you – you are doing such a good thing!”

Brevich, suddenly and acutely, felt relieved. As if the money he had given were like a burden lifted from his shoulders, at least some part of it. He relaxed, lounging complacently on his chair with a glass of beer, then suddenly started and muttered, “You know, I want to send some more tonight. Do you think it might be too much?”

“No,” she replied, “this is your first time. It’s very logical you’re impatient the first time. This is how all good habits begin.”

Returning to the hotel, Ivan turned on his laptop and made another transfer. Then Dara gave him a massage, but nothing followed it; she did not even bother to undress. When she was getting ready to go home, a downpour started. “Why do you need to go? Stay in the second bedroom,” Brevich suggested. Dara agreed. Later that night, when she was already under the covers, her phone made a barely audible ping. Jeff had sent another message, confirming receipt of the second transfer. Dara, lying in her comfortable bed, lazily toyed with her clitoris and thought that perhaps she had never had such a perfect day.

Chapter 30

The next morning, Brevich woke up in bad spirits. All night something seemed to be looming – behind the curtains or next to the writing desk or in the corner near the closet. A couple of times he jumped up and shone his smartphone’s flashlight, trying to spot his enemy. But the room was empty – or the enemy was hiding, not giving himself away…

Already fully awake, but without opening his eyes, Ivan tried to recall the fish released to freedom yesterday and his carefree joy, but for some reason, only the monk, resembling a snake, arose in his mind. The monk – and the interweaving of the shadows on the grass, which trembled with a quick shiver, causing Ivan’s head to spin and nausea to rise. Making an effort, Brevich got up, went into the living room and made a transfer. This – a meaningful, practical action – brought relief but only briefly. Something was wrong with his mind, with his inner world; he could no longer remain unaware of it. His brain seemed to be covered with a foggy shroud, under which there was a seething, feverish bustle, invisible from the outside. Ivan growled, cursed through his teeth, but then the door of the second bedroom opened, and Dara came out. This calmed him somewhat – and at breakfast he behaved almost normally, even trying to make jokes.

Later, during the day, he began to feel uneasy again. Only Dara’s presence seemed to help – realizing this, Ivan, looking askance and wrinkling his brow painfully, suggested that she move in with him for a while. Dara agreed – it couldn’t have suited her better. They went to collect her things together – Brevich, gloomy, frowning, sat in the kitchen and waited for her to pack. Then they went to dinner, but he ate almost nothing and sat in silence, smiling strangely at times and turning gloomy again. Dara made a lot of effort – both in the restaurant and then in the hotel room – to distract him from his oppressive thoughts, to maintain his equilibrium and put him to bed. Finally, he fell asleep; then she climbed onto the sofa in the living room and thought hard – the situation was clearly worsening.

She understood this was the reverse side of the coin, the consequence of Ivan’s abnormality, without which her and Jeff’s scam would never have worked. But something had to be done with this flip side: Brevich’s unpredictability could ruin everything. She needed to keep her finger on the pulse, but how was she to control this madness – even with her ability to adapt to men? What’s more, Ivan was refusing to have sex – and this was another worry. For Dara, control over a man was largely linked with managing his erection…

At night, as she lay in bed, her mind continued to be preoccupied, and she couldn’t even get to sleep – for her, it was something unheard of. She was becoming increasingly anxious: Ivan’s unhealthy mind might destroy their plans at any moment. What if he were to lash out and really “wriggle off the hook,” as Jeff had said? Today he had gotten what he wanted – her moving in – but tomorrow something might be needed again, something new. How could she surprise him?… The situation was as shaky as a rickety boat, and Dara didn’t know which lever to pull to stabilize it. At the same time, she felt: the solution lay somewhere nearby. The right word was nagging her subconscious, unable to rise to the surface. Dara was angry with herself; she was pursing her lips and, as usual, pinched her forearm – and with another pinch the solution finally emerged. The word came; it had actually been in plain view; it was inseparable – from Brevich, from his gloomy gaze and his wounded nipple of a few nights ago…

In the morning, Dara went out to acquire the accessories she needed. There were a lot: clamps, wax candles, a seven-row needle wheel with a comfortable grooved handle and several pieces of clothing. The saleswoman offered her a set of dildos as well with a playful wink. Dara thought for a moment and shook her head.

In the taxi on the way to the hotel, she contemplated the upcoming scenario. It aroused her – Dara could hardly wait for the evening to arrive. After dinner, she retired to her bedroom but soon came out dressed in a bathrobe. She approached Ivan and innocently suggested, “Massage?”

Brevich was wandering around the room with a glass of gin in his hand, not knowing where to put himself. “Massage? Yes, a massage…” he murmured in response. Obviously, his head was occupied with other matters. They stood at the window for a while; then he went to his room, undressed and lay on his bed, face down.

Dara threw off her robe; under it was a short, semitranslucent nurse’s uniform. Then she pulled on a black mask covering half her face – for some reason this gave her more confidence. After massaging Ivan for a quarter of an hour, she said, “You are too tense. I know a way to relax you – roll over, and let’s cover your eyes from the light…”

Brevich looked at her outfit in surprise but said nothing. She put a blindfold on him, then lit a candle, stroked his arm and said, “Trust me.” Ivan silently nodded. “And don’t be afraid,” Dara added, tilting the candle and dripping melted wax onto his stomach.

He stiffened convulsively but almost immediately relaxed, making a strange sound. Dara said, “Welcome to my world,” imitating someone she’d once heard, although she couldn’t recall who. Brevich breathed deeply, clutching the sheet with his fingers. She repeated, “Welcome,” took two clamps and fixed them onto his nipples, carefully watching his reaction. Ivan did not resist, but his face was changing. From grimace to grimace, hinting at – suffering, comprehending, then acceptance…

She began to drip wax closer to his groin and noted a powerful erection. Then he started to twist, smacking his lips and turning his head as if he were looking for something. Dara realized he wanted her flesh. She climbed onto the bed on top of him, sank down on his face, wriggling domineeringly, as if forcing him to give her pleasure, and then busied herself with his cock. For almost half an hour she would not permit him to climax; she used three more clips and ran the sharp-toothed wheel along his thighs… Then she finally allowed him to spurt forth.

Brevich twitched spasmodically for a long time, and afterward, when it was all over, he burst into tears. He began to mumble incomprehensibly, mixing English with Russian words. Dara understood almost nothing, merely catching that he was complaining to her about something unbearable, something that was stronger than him. And this really was so – Ivan, for almost the first time in his life, was unafraid to appear weak, to elicit somebody’s pity. Dara stroked his head, knowing that another important step had been made – she had managed to gain control.

Then Brevich quieted down; for some time they lay silently side by side. Soon, he fell asleep. Dara covered him with a sheet and went to her room.

From that moment, their “therapy” sessions were repeated every evening. They were a real discovery for Ivan – and, in a sense, a salvation. The physical pain pushed aside all other torments, forcing the brain to shift its accents, its “operational centers.” It, the pain, became the center itself – like the common denominator under the fraction bar. Like an invisible substance, it penetrated the space, creating bridges between the mind and the body, between the tangible and the ephemeral, otherworldly. It caused sparks to scatter from his eyes – the light of unseen stars. The light of new suns, summoning to themselves.

Before the sessions, he and Dara would usually sit in the rooftop bar. They said little – just sipped their drinks and looked out at the night city. As always, by the evening, Ivan was beginning to get disturbed, winding himself up, his mind obscured by a viscous fog. But this could now be tolerated; he had a reliable healer nearby. Brevich knew that soon they would go to the bedroom and he’d surrender to Dara’s initiative, concentrating on physical sensations. Pain, like a drug, like a merciful opioid, would relieve anxiety, the unbearable frenetic agitation of his brain. Its impulses would temporarily restore the semblance of order in the unsteady system, returning it from the tip of the needle back down to the valley, dampening the surplus of energy. In the same way that Goldstone bosons maintain orderliness, preserve asymmetry, Ivan might have said if he had known such words…

The sexual pleasure he experienced also came as a surprise. His body reacted to the test of pain with amazing enthusiasm, each time rewarding him with the most powerful orgasm. It suggested something masochistic, but Brevich was not ashamed of himself. Everything seemed natural – a manifestation of yet another of the features of his brutal nature. Indeed, his whole life as a major businessman full of challenges and constant pressure had been like a training exercise for this change of roles. Satisfaction from the work-related struggle had, in some way, resembled pleasure from pain. His many years in business had crystallized an invariant, manifesting itself now under the clamps and the hot wax…

After the sessions, Ivan, usually a man of few words, would become voluble, talking about himself freely, without any embarrassment. Such was the degree of his trust in Dara after he had transferred his tenderest spots into her power. However, this did not continue for long – quite soon Brevich would be overcome by drowsiness. His speech would become incoherent and turn into a satisfied snuffling. Then Dara would silently slip out of the bed and walk back to her bedroom.

She would have her own nightly ritual there, the most pleasant of all possible. Climbing under the covers with her new smartphone, she’d repeatedly count her share of the money she and Jeff had “earned” up to that moment. Every morning she would learn from Brevich about the latest transaction, and by the end of the day, she would receive confirmation that the funds had been credited to the account. She would carefully record everything and draw up the current balance before going to sleep. This calculation flowed smoothly into her dreams – about how she would manage her wealth once the whole action plan had finally been completed.

She tried not to think about the specifics of “the completion.” It was clear Brevich would have to disappear from their lives – when this thought could not be driven off, Dara convinced herself that “disappearing” might have different meanings. For example, he could just leave Thailand forever – although, of course, in the depths of her soul she knew that half measures would not be enough. At best, they’d be able to persuade Brevich to vanish of his own free will, in pursuit of the liberated spirit of his beloved Nok…

However, she said to herself angrily, let Jeff deal with that problem. He was a farang and didn’t believe in the Buddha – so let him spoil his karma. And as far as Dara’s own was concerned, ever since her go-go past, she had always had plenty of solid arguments in reserve to salve her conscience. First, she was helping her family – this was her duty, the most important karmic factor. Second, Brevich was a foreigner, not a Thai; deceiving a foreigner was not such a big sin, maybe not a sin at all. It was merely the restoration of justice – why did they, the Westerners, have all the money and get to drive good cars and travel the world? Why did they get to buy what they wanted while she, Dara, had to climb mountains just to make ends meet? After all, she was Thai, a daughter of Siam – that meant she was objectively better than any farang and deserved her share of happiness…

The arguments were impregnable, flawless. Besides, Dara convinced herself, when she had the money, she would take care of her karma in the best way possible, much more efficiently than now. For example, every day she would give out some money to the beggars near the temples. This would become her habit – she remembered well the monk’s words about the strength of “habitual” karma. For example, Dara estimated, she might donate a hundred baht every day. After all, she would have millions – no, tens of millions… It looked like a great deal. This was how you should spend your money on karma, not like this crazy Brevich. But then, of course, what could you expect from him – he wasn’t a Thai!

However, Dara had to admit: she had an involuntary respect for Ivan. She even felt a certain affinity with him – they were doing an important thing together! She also gave Brevich credit for the sincerity with which he had immersed himself in the local milieu, for the way he perceived Buddhism – not in the form of notional entities but in a practical sense in order to resolve his problems. This coincided with how she regarded religion herself – in a utilitarian and pragmatic manner, as something capable of providing support on difficult days.

Yes, Dara told herself, this Russian was perhaps the best of all the farangs she knew. He was even better than Jeff, who had previously been the hands-down winner. Jeff was smart and crafty, yes, but Brevich belonged to a completely different league. He was fabulously rich and was making Dara rich as well. And, even though he had fallen for their bait and had let himself be deceived, he was still stronger than everyone. Dara knew, in some higher sense, he would settle his score with everything – with fate, with his enemies, maybe even with Thailand and Jeff… She only hoped it wouldn’t occur to him to get even with her. By whatever means possible, she would have to get out of his way, as she would a speeding train, when he eventually lost it for good.

Chapter 31

Meanwhile, in Moscow, the investigation into Nok’s murder had taken a step forward. Having drawn a blank with regards to Danilov’s death and Sakhnov’s disappearance, the detectives continued to search for clues, and at one of their meetings it was decided to look more closely at Brevich’s ex-wife, Inna Vitzon. The wily operative who had conducted her initial, fruitless questioning doggedly pestered the prosecutor’s office and gained access to the records of Inna’s telephone conversations. Soon, an interesting picture of her calls to one of Danilov’s numbers emerged, which had suddenly stopped shortly before the abduction attempt. Thus, Inna was summoned by the police and interrogated very thoroughly.

It lasted almost six hours. Inna cried, fainted and lost control several times but still intuitively chose the right tactics. In tears, she admitted that yes, they had been lovers, and she had known that Sanyok was plotting something to take revenge on Brevich, but it hadn’t occurred to her that it might be for real – he was such a milksop! She’d left him because of this; she was sick of his moaning – and the fact it had happened two weeks before the tragedy was a coincidence, nothing more…

She was released on condition she stayed in the city, but information about the new development reached Colonel Sibiryakov. He decided to share it with Brevich and called Bangkok deep into the night. Half asleep, it took Ivan a long time to work out who was speaking and what he wanted. Finally, he understood, listened, paused and said, “Thank you. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“Yes, think about it,” Sibiryakov’s voice rumbled down the receiver. “Your ex is clearly as guilty as sin, even though there’s no hard data against her. For the cops, she’s not much of a prospect at the moment, but if they get paid, they can give her a serious working over as an accomplice of some sort. I doubt they’ll be able to cook up a charge, but she’ll remember it for the rest of her life for sure. That will be a payback of some kind, you see?”

“I see,” Brevich grunted and hung up. He let loose a string of curses, hurled his cell phone to the far corner, lay on his back, spread his arms and remained like that without sleeping for most of the night.

It was immediately clear to him that Inna had been a part of the plot; he was only surprised he hadn’t realized it right away. It could not have been otherwise – now, looking from a distance, he saw how much poison, bile and pent-up grievance at life had filled her soul. It was all bound to come out some time, and when it did it had emerged in full measure… Brevich ground his teeth and clenched his fists. An impulse raged in him – to avenge himself on Inna, to ruin her life. To set the detectives on her – let them put her through the grill, mangle and crush her personality!

And then doubts began to arise – what if this were to harm his karma, which he had already worked so hard on? What if Inna were innocent – or, maybe, only a little bit guilty? What if revenge were to cancel out in one stroke all his help for the Thai children and his confidence that he was on the way, on the right path to a new life? The future was calling; it meant so much more than a futile face-off with a worthless past!

Then he thought about Inna herself, about the miserable years they had spent together. His memory presented a half-eroded image that contained little – mostly her petty snobbery and a tendency toward hysterics as a manifestation of her “delicate feminine nature.” He recalled her tedious philosophy of life full of clichés parroted from the internet and her large, sluggish vagina resembling a dead mollusk… Looking at his past from here, from Bangkok, he saw clearly: she had been terribly unlucky. Unlucky with her place of birth, her upbringing and personality. With her environment, her genetics, her overall mind-set… She’s already been punished by fate – maybe this was the whole point? Maybe it was only worth feeling sorry for her, no more?

With that, Ivan finally fell asleep, but in the morning he woke up in an agony of confusion. Inna’s name had raked up his memory; demons, startled by the nighttime phone call, pushed his madness closer to the edge. He sat on the bed, clutching his face in his hands, and screamed in a beseeching voice, “Dara!” And again, “Dara, come here!”

Dara was in the living room; hearing the scream, she immediately ran to him. Ivan, not rising, drew her to himself, clasping her hips and pressing his head against her tummy. She froze, not knowing what to do. Brevich inhaled the smell of her body and said hoarsely, “Let’s go and see the monk. I don’t understand – how much longer do I have to wait?”

“Of course. We’ll go,” Dara said softly. “I’ll arrange it, but let’s have breakfast first…”

It was obvious: the situation had worsened again; it needed to be straightened somehow. Not really understanding how, Dara tried to win more time. She called the temple and made an appointment with the monk for two days later.

“He’s gone up into the mountains,” she explained to Ivan. “He’s meditating alone; he needs it. Probably wants to get closer to Nirvana.”

“Nirvana, fuck!” Brevich frowned. “Well, okay…” He made a circle around the room and lay down on his bed.

“If you don’t need me, can I go out for a little while?” Dara asked. She wanted to discuss everything with Jeff.

“No, you can’t,” said Brevich. “Stay here; without you I feel terrible. If you need something, call the concierge; they’ll buy it and bring it up.”

“Well, as you say,” Dara reassured him. She was increasingly alarmed at the way he was looking. “Maybe you’d like a massage? Or shall we play some games?”

“Not now,” he grunted without glancing at her.

Dara cooed something soothing, climbed into a chair with her legs up and wrote to Jeff: “He’s freaking out. Just a bit more and he’ll lose it completely.”

“Arrange things so that he transfers the remaining amount in one go,” he answered.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that, genius?” Dara snapped. Then, having calmed down a little, she added, “The day after tomorrow we’re going to the temple. I’ll try to think of something. In the meantime, we need to cheer him up.”

“Show him our website this evening,” Jeff responded. “And don’t worry, I believe in you. Thai pussy is number one!”

After dinner, Dara took Brevich out to the hotel bar and showed him the updated “charity fund” website. Jeff had made some effort: the news section was full of notes of gratitude to an anonymous donor. On another page, an entry showed what the fund was planning to do with the money – who was supposed to receive it, and how it was going to help. There were also photographs – of appalling slums, garbage dumps and the unfortunate children, whose fate was about to change with Brevich’s assistance.

For a while, Ivan looked at the pictures and read the messages. Then he suddenly turned to Dara, his eyes glowing. “I sense,” he said, “I am ready. My ‘weighty’ karma is ready. I want to free myself – there is no point waiting. We must find her spirit!”

Dara realized that the conclusion, whatever it was, was inevitably approaching. “I agree with you,” she nodded. “We’ll put some pressure on the monk – he’s the only one who can help. I think after the mountains, his head should be somewhat clearer… And by the way, since you’re getting closer to liberation, why don’t you give your karma a decisive push? A few days ago, I got a call from the charity – they’re planning to build a shelter. Imagine: you’ll be providing street children with a real home. This would be no worse than a magic white elephant!”

Ivan stared at her hard; she had to strain with all her might not to look away. “Well, I will,” he said slowly. “I’ll do it when her spirit is with me. Just before I’m liberated – I must be sure. I must feel it – and I will feel it; you’ll see.”

It was evident he couldn’t be pressured any further. “Yes, of course,” Dara said and took his hand. “You’re right – don’t worry; your intuition won’t deceive you.”

That very evening, she noticed that Brevich’s reaction to the pain had changed. There was no erection; he simply endured it – undistracted from his thoughts. The pain no longer calmed him; its quanta could not restrain the chaotic buildup. His mind was thrashing about, denying order, and no boson particles could return it to tranquility.

Ivan spent almost all the time before the meeting with the monk on his bed, sipping gin. Any action seemed incongruous to him; it would only have weakened his focus. Dara was with him – she sat nearby, doing crosswords in a Thai magazine.

On the way to the temple, Brevich suddenly cheered up. “Now!” he said to Dara. “Now it will be decided, one way or another.” She nodded in agreement, still not knowing what to do if the meeting came to nothing.

The conversation with the monk did not last long. Casting a brief glance at Brevich, he said right away, “Explain to him: to kill yourself is a trap, a dead end.”

“He isn’t asking about that,” Dara tried to protest. “He just can’t wait any longer for her spirit to show up. He has come to ask for advice…”

“Whatever he’s come for,” the monk interrupted her, “I can see what’s going on in his head. Killing himself will mean no reunion. And what’s more, if he takes someone else’s life with him, his karma will be ruined forever.”

Dara began to translate, the monk not taking his eyes off her. For some reason, she didn’t dare misinterpret his words. “He stresses,” she said, “that your liberation should come of its own accord. He insists that I make this clear: the Buddha does not accept suicide!”

Ivan waved her away, “I know, I know. Nothing like that will happen; we’ll simply fly away like birds… Tell him we haven’t come to discuss this. Tell him that the children have been saved, a lot of them, and that soon I’ll build them a house. That I won’t be taking revenge for the past – tell him that I am ready, ready! All that remains is to get to know – where, when, how? Where to find her, and how to give her a signal?”

“What-what?” Dara asked. Brevich’s speech was slurred. The veins on his temples stood out; he was frowning and looking unhappy.

Ivan repeated himself, and she obediently translated. “You can only meditate and pray,” the monk shrugged. He obviously had nothing more to say. Dara understood: the entire plot was hanging by a thread.

“Your thought determines… Your intention determines… The energy of the will…” the monk muttered and got up. Brevich turned away and stared into the distance. His nerves were stretched taut like a string.

Muffled peals of thunder could be heard; a thunderstorm was gathering. The monk looked anxiously at the sky, and then it suddenly dawned on Dara. “He means,” she translated to Brevich, “that the energy of your will is accumulating like a thundercloud. It will strike like lightning – this will be the sign. It will flash – and you will see everything in its light.”

Brevich’s eyes bored into her. “Lightning?” he asked and repeated the word, chewing his lips, as if tasting it. Then he shouted, “Yes! Lightning – it makes sense!” He jumped to his feet and hastened Dara along, “Let’s go home!”

The taxi crawled for ages through the city’s traffic. Brevich was silent, thinking intensely about something. Dara did not dare interrupt him, but when they entered their room, she nevertheless said, “You probably need to collect your emotions, gather them together – to attract the lightning strike. There should be a match – between what you are experiencing now and something she has been feeling at some point in the past. Try to remember where the two of you had some important, highly charged moment together?”

She was acting on a whim, without any plan; she was just improvising, not knowing where it would lead. Someone seemed to be choosing the right words for her – perhaps the very same goddess of fortune.

Brevich pondered her question, thought for a few minutes and suddenly exclaimed, “Yes!” He walked around the room, gesticulating excitedly, then stopped, turned to Dara and said, “Get ready. Put on your most beautiful dress – we are going to have dinner in a plush place I know. On the roof of a skyscraper; you’re gonna like it. Lightning is drawn to high places – mine will strike there!”

He laughed and ran around the room again. The look on his face was totally insane. He waved his arms, squinted his eyes and muttered utterly meaningless things. “I counted the hints on my fingers… they fly in a cart to the end of the world… your plate has been smashed into a multitude of pieces…”

Dara still had no idea how the situation would play out, but she saw that nothing depended on her anymore. There was no contradicting Brevich; she could only obediently follow him. As if, indeed, the energy of his will and his desires had curved space, changing the reality around him – just as the Buddha taught.

The rumbling continued beyond the window; then the heavens opened up, and the downpour began. “Ha-ha,” Brevich laughed angrily, running to the window, “the tricksters! They’re prompting me, but I know it myself already!” And he asked, turning to Dara, “A massage?”

This session ended up being very intense. Brevich reacted acutely: his face twitched, he groaned through his teeth but did not resist, allowing Dara to do whatever she wanted. “Yes,” she whispered, “I feel you are close to the limit; your receptors are more sensitive than ever. You’re electrified – you’re ready, yes, ready. Wow, what a hard-on you have!…”

After a furious orgasm, instead of becoming drowsy as usual, Ivan felt refreshed, full of power. He climbed into the shower and sang songs, screaming them out at the top of his voice. Dara didn’t know what to think, what to expect; she only sensed that the outcome was very close. She grabbed her phone but shook her head and put it down. Then she picked it up again, started writing a message to Jeff, thought about it a little and deleted it. There was nothing he could do to help her.

In the restaurant, at Brevich’s insistence, they were given the same table where he had once sat with Nok. The air had cleared after the storm; the heat had subsided. Ivan happily turned his face to the wind, rubbed his hands and kept looking around. Dara was on edge, not having the slightest idea how to behave.

Nevertheless, something needed to be done. Having ordered drinks, she took Brevich’s hand in her own and muttered, “I can feel it: whirlwinds are emanating from you. I feel she is here; her spirit is almost within your touch. It’s in our world and yet not in it; it’s where it can and cannot be seen, heard and not heard…”

Ivan nodded, his fingers cold as ice. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Dara was in despair; she was running out of options. “Give me your palm, I’ll have a look at it…” she began, but here Brevich squeezed her hand so hard it seemed her wrist might snap and exclaimed in a terrifying whisper, “There she is! Over there!”

Looking at his face, Dara understood that he wasn’t joking. That, in some incomprehensible way, he really saw, heard and believed: the woman he needed was somewhere nearby. Dara followed his gaze. A girl stood by the rail, holding back her windswept hair with her hands. Her dress stuck to her body; it appeared she was ready to fly away on invisible wings. There was some kind of strangeness about her, some elusive flaw, a catch…

By an incredible coincidence, she was an almost exact copy of the image engraved on Ivan’s memory – how Nok had stood on their last evening in Bangkok, here, in this same restaurant, next to the same rail. Only the bracelet on her thin arm was missing, but the bracelet wasn’t important. The ghost, in search of a way out, might have neglected the bracelet, Brevich realized and again whispered, “It’s her!” He whispered and then relaxed, suddenly becoming almost normal. Everything came together – fantasy and reality, the words of the monk and the gestures of fate. He had succeeded: the future was in his hands, and no one could stop him.

Dara didn’t know what had come to her aid, but it was obvious: Brevich had no doubts. And once again, she mentally thanked the goddess Nang Kwak for her support. Meanwhile, the girl in the light dress had moved away from the rail and sat down at a table nearby, next to a European-looking man.

“Go and make their acquaintance,” Brevich said quietly.

Dara nodded, got up and went to the ladies’ room. On her way back, as she passed the girl, she asked her about something. They got into a conversation, and soon all four of them were sitting at the same table together. The couple introduced themselves. “I’m Tina,” Tina smiled. “And I’m Theo,” nodded Theo as he extended his hand.

Chapter 32

Dara did not find it difficult to endear herself to the girl Brevich had identified. At first glance, it was clear she had Isaan roots and had most likely been born not far from Laos. This was half true but sufficient for Dara’s purposes.

“Aren’t you from Udon-Thani, sister?” she asked. This province was the main supplier of “employees” for Bangkok’s go-go bars – Dara knew how the girls from there spoke and behaved. The conversation started naturally: two women from the same region meeting in a prestigious restaurant in the capital, both having apparently set themselves up well, both with farang men. This provided a lot of common ground for jokes, and Dara skillfully used it to amuse Tina. And then she exclaimed, “By the way, today is my birthday. Would you like to celebrate together? Ivan,” she nodded at Brevich, “would also be happy if you’d join us, I’m sure!”

It seemed impolite to refuse. Tina and Theo looked at each other, shrugged and agreed.

“We also have a cause for celebration,” Tina said proudly when everyone had introduced themselves. “Theo has just finished a great work. He is a scientist – he’s studying what’s going on in our brains.”

“Another psycho,” Dara thought. “How interesting!” she said aloud. “Maybe you can teach us how to read minds.”

Theo frowned and waved his hand in the air. Dara immediately changed the subject, called the waiter, asked him for something and began to chat with Tina about Isaan in Thai.

Brevich, who had been sitting in silence up till now, grunted and stared at Theo. “Do you often come here?” he asked, trying to sound polite.

“No,” Theo shook his head, “this is actually the first time, even though we live nearby.”

“Okay,” Ivan nodded, thinking: “It’s all fitting together!” – and looked around with a benign smile. He was in a wonderful state of mind; inside him, for the first time in many days, peace and quiet reigned. The strangers, sitting opposite, personified his victory over the imperfection of the world, over its hostility, its cunning. All the chance coincidences of his recent past had congregated, converged into the desired vector. Into the pattern that satisfied his goals, consistent with his will.

The waiter brought snacks. Dara ceremoniously served Brevich, put a little bit on her own plate and, to maintain the conversation, asked Theo in a very courteous tone, “Well, how do you like Thailand?”

“It’s ambiguous,” Theo replied. Dara blinked in surprise. It was not the answer she was expecting.

“It has a vibrant palette, like an abstract painting. And what’s contained in it can be interpreted in different ways,” Theo tried to explain. “But, of course, I’m very grateful to Bangkok,” he nodded at Tina with a smile.

Dara smiled back but flared up angrily inside. Like all her compatriots, she could not stand the slightest criticism of her country, the king and the Buddha.

“Many say Thailand is enchanting,” she said thoughtfully. “Those who have been here always come back – its magic cannot be opposed.”

“Magic… A little mystical mumbo-jumbo,” Theo muttered with a grin. “I don’t know; it’s hard for me to judge. Although I have to confess, I can see: yes, it can draw people back again and again.”

“Because we have real life here,” said Dara, addressing Tina. “Don’t you agree, sister? I lived in the West; it’s cold and boring over there.”

She disliked Theo, identifying him as an enemy – and it hadn’t taken her long to get this feeling. The barely perceptible smile on his lips hinted at a superiority of some sort – and it was unclear to her what he felt superior to. Perhaps, to everything and everyone – and this annoyed Dara intensely, contradicting all her views on life. Theo was obviously not rich; he was dressed cheaply, but, at the same time, he considered himself entitled to look down from a height somehow… Or perhaps not? She couldn’t figure it out, and this infuriated her even more.

“Thai smiles are often deceitful, yet true magic implies sincerity,” said Theo, not addressing anyone specifically.

“Ka,”[24] Dara bowed her head in agreement. She understood suddenly: he was the type the bar fairies hated the most. Such men would never fall for a sob story or believe in love at first sight. They wouldn’t lose their heads and later send money from abroad. And, after sex, they wouldn’t even give a tip – or only a small one.

“However, Thais are very polite to each other,” Theo continued. “And you have to respect that!”

“Ka-a,” Dara purred and said to Tina, “You know, I spent a few years in England. They may have a lot of smart gadgets in their stores, but they still don’t know how to live their lives – not even listening to those who do. They look at the world through their iPhone cameras and their large TV screens…” She turned back to Theo, “I also have a TV. I have an iPhone, too, and I love the camera. I take selfies and pictures of food wherever I go. But I know how to live – I see the path that the Buddha has laid out!”

“I don’t have an iPhone,” Tina smiled blithely. “I have a cheap Chinese phone, but I also know how to live – better than anyone, especially now.”

“And me too. Especially now,” Brevich muttered, half closing his eyes. Something indulgent and patronizing shone through his features; he looked like a man who really does know. Who knows everything that will be and understands there is nothing to argue about.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Dara laughed. “Well done, sister. It’s easy for us to live in peace because we carry the faith in us. And you,” she turned again to Theo, “you deny any faith. For you, magic is tricks and mumbo-jumbo, but we can see it all around us everywhere!”

She was unable to control herself; Theo irritated her more and more. What he was saying seemed wrong, unacceptable. He was a foreigner; he must love Thailand, because, if you thought about it, her whole country was number one, and not just Thai pussy. A farang is obliged to spend his money here – Thailand has no other use for him. Then the farang is obliged to leave – his money will be put to use without his help. But while he is here, he should respect, appreciate and even marvel at his surroundings – despite no one in Siam respecting him for himself…

“Real magic is the B Object,” Tina said, coming to Theo’s aid. “And also the invisible arrow into the day after tomorrow.”

“Real magic is mathematics,” said Theo. “There is harmony and the greatest power in it, compared to which magic is mere child’s play. But I agree – Asia is quite alluring.”

“I have a magical tattoo,” Dara squinted slyly. “It’s a pity I cannot show it to you, ha-ha-ha…”

She suddenly felt calmer; the feeling of enmity had almost disappeared. “Mathematics… He really is a psycho,” she thought. “He tries to be clever about everything. That means he’ll screw up at a crucial moment.”

“How do you like the food?” she asked everyone. “Personally, I’d prefer something a bit spicier.”

They started talking about Thai food and then about Dara’s birthday. Theo raised a toast; the atmosphere lifted. Dara began to talk about London, while Brevich surreptitiously glanced at Tina and thought – it was surprising Nok’s spirit had chosen this young, strange girl who was so unlike her. Or maybe it wasn’t surprising at all – Nok probably wanted renewal, rejuvenation. He himself, if he were in her place, would have preferred to move into not a world-weary middle-aged man just a little shy of fifty, but a young buck with burning eyes… Anyway, he didn’t have the slightest doubt – it was Nok here, right next to him. Everything spoke of this: Tina’s elusive aloofness, her slightly squinting gaze, even the bright-red streak in her hair. Yes, and her face – was is it really different? Thai faces, they may seem dissimilar and alike at the same time; you can never be sure…

After the appetizers, Dara led Tina to the ladies’ room. Ivan refilled the glasses and proposed, “Let’s drink?”

“Yes,” Theo readily agreed.

“Actually, why don’t we get drunk,” suggested Ivan.

“Why not,” Theo waved his hand. He felt pleasantly relaxed, like a man who has just completed a long and difficult feat – he deserved a rest. Maybe even an adventure, a slightly crazy one.

There was a freshness in the air, unusual for Bangkok; a light wind blew through the terrace. “It’s good the thunderstorm broke this afternoon,” said Theo. Brevich nodded with a grin, picked up his glass and took a long sip.

Then the women returned, briskly discussing something. “We have an idea,” Dara announced. “Let’s finish our food and get over to Jokey. It’s a club next door,” she explained to Brevich. “It’s really cool and classy there.”

“Let’s dance!” Tina said in support and laughed. Theo noted he had never seen her like this.

They went to the club on foot. A narrow half road, half path looped through courtyards and buildings. Toxic scooters rushed along it, dogs scurried, food vendors pushed their carts. All four of them were having fun; the arguments were forgotten. Slipping and almost falling into a puddle, Theo turned to Dara and said in a slightly drunken voice, “I’ve just realized: in fact, I really love Thailand!”

“Liar!” she exclaimed with a laugh, slapping him on the shoulder. “A liar and a ladies’ man!”

“Our home is over there,” said Tina. “By the way, would you mind waiting for me? I’ll literally be a minute. I just want to change my shoes.”

They decided to wait in the air-conditioned hall. Brevich glanced around, then fixed his eyes on the doors of the elevator where Tina had just gone. He had no doubt: this was another sign Nok was giving him. She was revealing her location so that he wouldn’t lose sight of her again… The evening might as well come to an end right now. All the details were clear; dancing in the club would add nothing. Nevertheless, Ivan hesitated; for some reason he did not want to part with these other two right away. Watching Nok in another person’s body was somehow exciting, unusual, almost forbidden…

In the club, after a single glance at Brevich, they were offered the best table, with the most expensive champagne and scotch appearing on it. The girls went off to the dance floor, and Ivan and Theo lounged in their chairs, their glasses in hand.

“Give him a wave,” Dara whispered to Tina, “so that he doesn’t feel abandoned. Have you been with him long?”

“Two months,” Tina replied honestly. “Although it seems like half a lifetime.”

“Well, yes,” Dara nodded. “That happens…”

Tina aroused more and more curiosity in her. Dara tried to understand why Brevich had so decisively isolated her from everybody else; why he, of his own free will, had been hooked by her, the simplest of lures – and could make no sense of it. She was also in the dark as to why Theo found her so attractive. For all his oddities, he still looked like a fairly presentable man – and in Bangkok, those were in great demand. Tina did not have any female tenacity, nor any special sexuality; in Dara’s opinion, she was quite ordinary. Nevertheless, these two very eligible Europeans were fussing over her like she was a movie star!

They danced for a long time, and one way or another Dara tried to find a way to unravel Tina’s mystery. She asked her about Theo, about the details of their lives. She inquired what her man liked to eat, whether he was stingy, if he had a big dick.

“I don’t know,” Tina answered, embarrassed, “I have nothing to compare it with.”

“Oh, I see…” said Dara thoughtfully, and suddenly asked, “Do you love him?”

“Yes, probably,” Tina shrugged. “And you? Do you love your farang?”

Dara hesitated and confessed, “Perhaps not. I am good to him, but I love myself and no one else.” Then, succumbing to a sudden sympathetic impulse for a Thai sister, she added, “And you’d better do the same” – and she bit her tongue, remembering Brevich and his intentions that had so far remained unknown to her.

Meanwhile, Ivan and Theo were knocking back the scotch. Theo quickly got drunk and became talkative – he began to rant about Thailand and the West, about religions and myths, Christianity and the Buddha. Brevich nodded, almost without listening, thinking that, with or without gods, in rich countries or poor, this world was still ugly and maimed. Only sometimes, out of nowhere, a bright ray might appear, and everything would suddenly make sense – Nok had become just such a ray of light in his life. But then, if this ray were to die out, the repulsion against the world would become a hundredfold worse. And no one could help – neither a monk with the demeanor of a snake, nor the Buddha himself if he were to appear suddenly, nor a golden calf with a piggy bank full of diamonds. The diamonds just lit up the sky; among them – another sun. This was the only meaning that remained.

Two elderly American men walked past them, surrounded by several Thai girls. The latter affectionately chirped something, making eyes at their companions. “But these minxes,” Brevich chuckled, “do they also follow the way of the Buddha?”

“I think,” Theo replied, “they truly believe in him. The role of the gods is not to give us a way; the way is defined by only one thing – human nature, which cannot be changed by any ‘supreme being.’ The true significance of any god is only the abstract nature of its existence – a god is an idea so convincing that it captures human minds, pushes consciousness beyond the limits of the ordinary. We assign meaning to statues and figures, to sacred symbols and holy artifacts. Our minds and nothing else create the content associated with them – without the work of the mind, the gods as such would not exist at all. We invent deities and believe them to be omnipotent, but, in fact, we ourselves rule over the deities; the human mind is the highest thing there is.”

“Yes,” muttered Brevich with a grin, “my will is the most powerful thing there is. Today I had the ultimate proof of this.”

He looked up at Theo, suddenly feeling a strange solidarity with him. The reason for this was the whiskey and – something else.

Theo continued, “By himself, the Buddha is essentially powerless. You can create any philosophy, however deep, a belief system around each individual god, but this will not be to his merit but yours. The belief system will reflect not the significance of the deity but only your own power of imagination. Standing before the Buddha, I know: he can only be what I dare to conceive, what I dare to have faith in. That is, depending on how big my balls are. On how big my dong is, as they say. Or not – ha-ha – not my dong, but my B Object!”

“What is the B Object?” Brevich asked suddenly in a completely sober voice. This was the second time he had heard the term, and for some reason, it piqued him.

“It’s what remains after you have gone,” said Theo. “It remains and, perhaps, lives forever. Maybe traveling to other stars.”

“To another Sun?” Ivan narrowed his eyes. Theo’s words alarmed him. They seemed to test the validity of what he had already understood and accepted. The coherent picture in his head, which did not need to be questioned.

“You could say that,” Theo frowned, “but that’s not the main point. It is better not to enter into this tangled maze.”

“But then what is there – another life?” Brevich insisted.

Theo laughed drunkenly, “I don’t like to fantasize on these topics. But now, because I’m not sober, I would reply: yes, you could say that too.”

“My woman said the same thing,” Ivan muttered.

Theo carried on without hearing him, “You could say that because no one knows for sure, including me. I can’t reach there with my mathematics, and, overall, I have to confess, it’s not easy for me to contemplate these matters. The thought of rebirth, of new lives, leads inevitably to the notion of the ultimate solitude.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Brevich grinned. “They say – it’s frightening to get lost. Ha-ha… They said it to me but didn’t have an idea who was capable of what… To get lost – fuck! They know nothing about me and my karma. I was a recruit of karma; I was taken into its service. I found my woman; she was with me, next to me. Now I am the champion of karma, and soon – soon I will become its knight! I will look into the distance from my horse. I will see into the distance from my horse. My winged horse will carry me forward…”

Something had changed in him; he suddenly began to look either drunk or not quite right in his mind. At the same time, his voice, facial expressions and gestures were filled with an animal power.

“A champion of karma – yes,” said Theo. “That is exactly what the B Object is about…”

He felt uncomfortable, wanted to get away for a while or even leave completely. And Brevich continued in the same vein, “Your Object? Okay, say it exists. It exists and flies. It symbolizes flight, freedom… The ocean of tears tastes only of salt, but its dharma has the taste of freedom!”

“I get it,” said Theo; then, making his apologies, he headed off to the bathroom. Ivan was lost in thought. He was not so much drunk as excited; clarity had returned to him. He had defeated this mathematician who had betrayed himself, showed his weakness, his fear of the upcoming – well, that served him right. A hopeless loner, that’s what he is; no one ever will understand his ideas. Understanding is always based on faith, on the faith of society at large; that’s where victory lies. Karma, ghosts, spirits – all this may sound pathetic, but the affirmations are all around. And the most important one was that he had again found Nok – and Brevich scanned the dance floor, looking out for Tina, as his indivisible property.

Returning to the table, Theo saw that Tina and Dara had come back to drink some champagne. With exaggerated courtesy, he set about looking after them, almost knocking the ice bucket over. “To you, our beautiful ladies!” he raised his glass of scotch, sensing he was swaying a bit. Tina gave him a worried look, but the music started again, and Dara whisked her away.

“To our beautiful ladies!” Theo repeated, raising his glass once more.

“Yes, to them,” Brevich said quietly. He again became calm and complacent – it seemed nothing in the world could ruffle him.

“Speaking of the gods – you’ve probably heard this one: God is love,” Theo turned toward him. “But love is much more than God! God is created by you yourself, but you can neither create nor destroy love. You can only betray it, become unworthy of it. This is your sole choice in regard to love: to betray it or not…” Theo leaned on the table, bent forward and confessed, “Here, with Tina, I realized: I know nothing about love. Including within the framework of my theory about B Objects!”

“That’s true,” Brevich said. “To betray, not to betray… My woman probably had the same thing in mind.”

The music became louder; Ivan and Theo carried on talking but almost without hearing each other. Their words seemed disjointed, and Ivan’s gaze was riveted on Tina and Dara dancing nearby. “I was a recruit of karma; I was taken into its service…” he repeated and looked – with an inexpressible tenderness that didn’t correspond at all with his flabby face and rough, tough nature. “As if he was catching the tiniest bit of fluff in his fingers,” Theo thought to himself and heard through the music: “At that very time… When I saw her the last time… When I lost her seemingly forever…” This sounded strange in relation to Dara – and, moreover, in Brevich’s tone there was no sadness.

Suddenly, everything began to look surreal, phantasmagoric. Theo shook his head trying to return to his senses and felt: he didn’t like something, and he couldn’t understand what it was. A shiver passed through his body; for an instant, he was shaken by the impermanence, the unreliability of everything in the world – and especially of what you have and treasure the most. Does much really depend on him? What lay ahead – an insight, or maybe suffering? Some distant forefeeling rolled over – and retreated, teased…

Brevich noticed his companion’s unease and stopped talking. He himself felt great; everything was perfect, exactly as he wanted it. His own forefeeling had come true and brought him to his goal. He no longer needed to contemplate, to look for something – let others do that. This Theo, for example, if he had such a karma. He, Brevich, was ready to pass the baton on to this man. Or to anyone else who wanted to take upon themselves the burden that was on his shoulders!

Ivan’s drunken gaze blurred; reality split into different layers like tobacco smoke. Nok’s slim figure appeared before his eyes, then the face of Nok, the face of Tina… He now saw: there was almost no difference between them. They had merged into one – and only one thought remained in his head: soon, very soon, he and Nok would be reunited; they would be liberated together. This anticipation was physically palpable; even his temples began to ache. And he suddenly felt an overwhelming impatience that was almost impossible to bear.

Brevich caught Dara’s eye and with a gesture motioned her over to him. Soon both girls were sitting at the table; Tina held Theo by the hand and whispered something in his ear. Dara was struck by a realization: the connection between those two was extremely strong.

The same had become clearly visible to Ivan as well. He spun his glass in the palm of his hands, set it aside and declared hoarsely, without the slightest propriety, “Well, we’ve had our dance. It’s time to say goodnight; I have a difficult day tomorrow.” And then barked at Dara, “Get your things!”

She quickly put her handbag over her shoulder. Ivan made a sign to the waiter and asked for the bill. Theo reached for his wallet, intending to pay half, but Brevich categorically dismissed the attempt. It was obvious there was no point arguing with him.

“Let it be my contribution toward mathematics – perhaps it’s good for my karma,” he said gloomily, and looked at Tina – right into her face, confusing her with his gaze.

In the taxi, he sat as dark as a storm cloud. “Is everything okay?” Dara asked.

“Not a damn thing is okay,” Brevich growled. “The math guy is not going to let her go; he wants to take and hang on to what belongs to me. This problem needs to be solved – now. Today, tomorrow, immediately.”

“Yes, of course,” Dara nodded. “It’s under control; we know where they live.” And, turning to the driver, she said, “Stop here for a minute.”

The taxi swerved toward the sidewalk. Dara got out and dialed Jeff. “Everything is settled,” she said. “The client is all set, but there’s a problem. We need to talk urgently – and not over the phone…”

Ivan looked at her through the car window and frowned, realizing he no longer wanted to see her. She lacked something essential – something that Nok possessed and, he guessed, Tina did too. But he didn’t want to think much about it – now another thing was in focus. The finale that he had waited and suffered so long for.

His head was ringing from the drink; something flashed in his eyes – a reflection of the recent lightning? Brevich imagined: he and Nok were rushing toward each other through the rain and rumble, in the midst of the most violent thunderstorms. Through time and space, at insane speeds. Along trajectories that were about to intersect.