Born in Suffolk, England, Joel Willans has lived in Canada, Peru and Finland. He currently works as a
copywriter for a Helsinki ad agency. When not thinking up slogans he writes stories. A Pushcart Prize
nominated author, he's been published in half a dozen anthologies and many magazines, including Pen
Pusher, Brand, Southword, Penumbra and The Momaya Review. His fiction has also been broadcast by BBC
Radio and performed on stage. This year, he achieved recognition in a wide variety of competitions and won
the Yeovil Literary Prize and Global Short Story Award.
copywriter for a Helsinki ad agency. When not thinking up slogans he writes stories. A Pushcart Prize
nominated author, he's been published in half a dozen anthologies and many magazines, including Pen
Pusher, Brand, Southword, Penumbra and The Momaya Review. His fiction has also been broadcast by BBC
Radio and performed on stage. This year, he achieved recognition in a wide variety of competitions and won
the Yeovil Literary Prize and Global Short Story Award.
All for just fifty baht
Sinee crouches down next to an old woman sitting beside cages packed with sparrows, swallows and weavers. The birds
bounce around, chittering and flapping and eyeing Sinee while she undoes her pink heels. Even though it's morning, the
pavement outside Wat Ratchapradit is busy. In Bangkok, every hour is rush hour, but inside the temple she knows it will be
cool and peaceful. It's beautiful, too, and difficult to find. Maybe her farang will get lost. Maybe she won't have to answer his
question after all.
"Want to get rid of your sorrows, child? Only fifty baht for a swallow, seventy-five for a pair." The old woman flaps her
hands. "They fly so high they touch the heavens."
"First I need to visit Buddha's house."
The old woman grins. "Why not a bird first? One now, one after you speak with Lord Buddha. Think of all the good it will do
for your karma. Give life to another creature, all for just fifty baht."
Sinee smiles. Though the old woman talks like a street hustler, she reminds her of her grandmother. Sinee counts on her
fingers. Nearly eight months since she left Chiang Mai. It feels longer.
"If Grandmother is to get better, we need money. There is no other choice," her mother said. "You must go south."
She didn't mean to end up stripping in Patpong, but the medicine was expensive and the wages were so much better there.
The men were mostly okay and some, like her farang, were even friendly.
Tiptoeing down the steps, Sinee realizes she has forgotten to remove her silver nail varnish. She feels exposed, but carries
on in, head bowed towards the golden Buddha sitting cross-legged inside. Kneeling in front of him, she breathes in the
sandalwood and jasmine until her throat tastes sweet. Two monks, boy apprentices in mustard robes, sit at the side
chanting soft words. Flowers, yellow roses and violet lotuses, lie at Buddha's feet. Some still beautiful, other wilted and old.
She tries to clear her mind but finds herself looking at the monks. Each wears a frown on his smooth, round face. They
know what she is. Despite their glares, the temple calms her. She stares at the crinkled garlands. They make her think of
herself in ten, twenty years. Only Buddha's smile comforts her and she realizes that her farang often looks at her with the
same expression. Feeling a little better, she lights a stick of incense.
She hears her farang's voice before she sees him. It sounds like a cat yawning.
"Hey Sinee, it's me! Sorry I'm late, baby, it's been a hell of a place to find. Goddamn Tuk Tuk driver didn't speak a word of
English. You want me to wait outside while you do your thing?"
She nearly nods, but he might touch her before he leaves and she doesn't want that. Not here. Not in front of the boy
monks. She gets up, bows and goes to him.
"You look great." He dabs his head with a blue handkerchief.
She tries to smile at him, feeling sorry that he has to lumber around the sopping city in his bloated body.
"I got you this." He hands her a necklace with a jade S. "I thought it'd go great with your eyes."
She thanks him and slips it in her pocket.
"Have you made up your mind yet?"
"I tell you outside."
The monks' gazes flitter around her like startled moths. She ignores them. Her farang tries to take her hand in his damp
paw but she pulls it away. Outside, the sun has cleared a path through the tin-colored sky. There has been no monsoon
today, but the world still smells like an old sponge. Sinee puts her shoes back on and listens to her farang's soft smokers
wheeze.
"I haven't been around here before. I've been to that big old temple. Wat Po. That's pretty damn impressive, but this is
somehow nicer. I can't put my finger on it. It's like it's sprouted out right out the earth. You know what I mean?"
He talks too much. More when he is nervous. She wonders if she'll ever be able to handle his constant noise.
He nods at the old woman. "They didn't have any birds in cages at Wat Po, though."
"They aren't for tourists," Sinee says.
He grins and stares as Sinee walks towards the old woman and hands her a new note. "Two swallows, please."
The old woman snatches the money and reaches inside the nearest cage. With two quick jerks she grabs the birds and
hands them over. Cupped in her hands, Sinee can feel their little hearts beating faster and faster.
"What you gonna do with them? Careful of their beaks, baby." He puts his arm around her and she flinches. "Will you be
happy in Chicago without all this?"
Sinee holds the birds tighter remembering the way her grandmother wheezed when she said goodbye. She pictures the
flowers around Buddha, drained of their beauty and way the monks looked at her. After a deep breath, she kisses the
swallows, whispers a few words and throws them as high as she can into the sky. When they are nothing more than
swirling specks of black, she turns to her farang and answers his question.
Sinee crouches down next to an old woman sitting beside cages packed with sparrows, swallows and weavers. The birds
bounce around, chittering and flapping and eyeing Sinee while she undoes her pink heels. Even though it's morning, the
pavement outside Wat Ratchapradit is busy. In Bangkok, every hour is rush hour, but inside the temple she knows it will be
cool and peaceful. It's beautiful, too, and difficult to find. Maybe her farang will get lost. Maybe she won't have to answer his
question after all.
"Want to get rid of your sorrows, child? Only fifty baht for a swallow, seventy-five for a pair." The old woman flaps her
hands. "They fly so high they touch the heavens."
"First I need to visit Buddha's house."
The old woman grins. "Why not a bird first? One now, one after you speak with Lord Buddha. Think of all the good it will do
for your karma. Give life to another creature, all for just fifty baht."
Sinee smiles. Though the old woman talks like a street hustler, she reminds her of her grandmother. Sinee counts on her
fingers. Nearly eight months since she left Chiang Mai. It feels longer.
"If Grandmother is to get better, we need money. There is no other choice," her mother said. "You must go south."
She didn't mean to end up stripping in Patpong, but the medicine was expensive and the wages were so much better there.
The men were mostly okay and some, like her farang, were even friendly.
Tiptoeing down the steps, Sinee realizes she has forgotten to remove her silver nail varnish. She feels exposed, but carries
on in, head bowed towards the golden Buddha sitting cross-legged inside. Kneeling in front of him, she breathes in the
sandalwood and jasmine until her throat tastes sweet. Two monks, boy apprentices in mustard robes, sit at the side
chanting soft words. Flowers, yellow roses and violet lotuses, lie at Buddha's feet. Some still beautiful, other wilted and old.
She tries to clear her mind but finds herself looking at the monks. Each wears a frown on his smooth, round face. They
know what she is. Despite their glares, the temple calms her. She stares at the crinkled garlands. They make her think of
herself in ten, twenty years. Only Buddha's smile comforts her and she realizes that her farang often looks at her with the
same expression. Feeling a little better, she lights a stick of incense.
She hears her farang's voice before she sees him. It sounds like a cat yawning.
"Hey Sinee, it's me! Sorry I'm late, baby, it's been a hell of a place to find. Goddamn Tuk Tuk driver didn't speak a word of
English. You want me to wait outside while you do your thing?"
She nearly nods, but he might touch her before he leaves and she doesn't want that. Not here. Not in front of the boy
monks. She gets up, bows and goes to him.
"You look great." He dabs his head with a blue handkerchief.
She tries to smile at him, feeling sorry that he has to lumber around the sopping city in his bloated body.
"I got you this." He hands her a necklace with a jade S. "I thought it'd go great with your eyes."
She thanks him and slips it in her pocket.
"Have you made up your mind yet?"
"I tell you outside."
The monks' gazes flitter around her like startled moths. She ignores them. Her farang tries to take her hand in his damp
paw but she pulls it away. Outside, the sun has cleared a path through the tin-colored sky. There has been no monsoon
today, but the world still smells like an old sponge. Sinee puts her shoes back on and listens to her farang's soft smokers
wheeze.
"I haven't been around here before. I've been to that big old temple. Wat Po. That's pretty damn impressive, but this is
somehow nicer. I can't put my finger on it. It's like it's sprouted out right out the earth. You know what I mean?"
He talks too much. More when he is nervous. She wonders if she'll ever be able to handle his constant noise.
He nods at the old woman. "They didn't have any birds in cages at Wat Po, though."
"They aren't for tourists," Sinee says.
He grins and stares as Sinee walks towards the old woman and hands her a new note. "Two swallows, please."
The old woman snatches the money and reaches inside the nearest cage. With two quick jerks she grabs the birds and
hands them over. Cupped in her hands, Sinee can feel their little hearts beating faster and faster.
"What you gonna do with them? Careful of their beaks, baby." He puts his arm around her and she flinches. "Will you be
happy in Chicago without all this?"
Sinee holds the birds tighter remembering the way her grandmother wheezed when she said goodbye. She pictures the
flowers around Buddha, drained of their beauty and way the monks looked at her. After a deep breath, she kisses the
swallows, whispers a few words and throws them as high as she can into the sky. When they are nothing more than
swirling specks of black, she turns to her farang and answers his question.
Joel Willans
